Where We Only Cry From Joy
by Southern Hearts
Summary: Exhausted of options, James Potter tries to find a way to break his wife out of Azkaban. His deceased son popping in from an alternate reality was the last complication he ever wanted, but it just might be the one he needs.
1. What the Light Brings

"_Another day in this carnival of souls_

_Another nights sins end as quickly as it goes_

_The memories are shadows; ink on the page_

_And I can't seem to find my way home._"

-_Far From Home _by **Five Finger Death Punch**

Chapter One

What the Light Brings

The light was fading again.

Tiny tendrils danced across her hand for a moment, before moving away as yet another heavy cloud passed over head. She tried to follow, reaching as though to snatch it, make it stay with her just little while longer. She missed the sunlight so much, the warm feel on her skin and the smell of summer air.

_It was never summer here. _

The light escaped her and she let out a shaky sigh of remorse, weeping inside for the sliver of life she had _just _been able to touch. Everything returned to dull, grey shadows in this cold, unwelcoming place.

She tried to remember the sun, but the skies above Azkaban seemed perpetually grey and stormy. Any hint of that precious light was diluted through the bars of her cell and escaped when _she_ couldn't.

How she envied it, that light.

The air grew ever colder and she huddled in on herself, shivering as a phantom like prison guard glided past her cell with painful slowness. She didn't feel the slow sucking of her being like she did when she first came here, but it was still there. She felt like a sea beaten rock and every time a little more of herself was worn away.

It wasn't that bad, she gently admitted to herself through a haze of numbness, as it had been when she was imprisoned in the lower cells. Here the Dementor patrols were significantly less frequent and human guards were routinely used. But they still came everyday, three times and stayed for what seemed like hours, leaving the inhabitants of the cell block drained and weak.

She hated it.

But she also remembered the lower levels, their constant presence a maddening stimulant. She could remember the screaming too, the tormented laughter and the cries for mercy. She still heard it at night here, though many times her own hard sobs joined the barrage of noise. She'd heave herself to exhaustion and sleep restlessly, haunted by dreams of another life.

She had lost all sense of time, lost count of the lonely, pain filled nights. Everything just seemed to have melded together until she thought she had been here a hundred years, maybe more. Her only solace, her only glimpse into happiness, was her one visitor. The one person they allowed to see her, even if his visits seemed to be getting shorter.

_James._

She looked up at the sound of her door opening, blinking at the sight of the man who filled her with something that felt like a distant dream, but came alive again when he was near. She could already feel her hands reaching out towards him, the one ray of sunshine she knew would never leave her in the darkness forever.

Warm hands took hers, pressing them to hot lips and squeezing tightly.

"You have thirty minutes," a gruff, terribly familiar voice sneered outside the cell.

James turned his head to glare.

"That's the third time this month you've cut my visit short!" he protested angrily.

She couldn't see the face of the other man, but there was a self satisfied leer to his voice when he threatened;

"I can make it ten."

James growled, but said nothing. The man gave a snort, closing the cell door.

As soon as it clicked into place, she was in his arms, sucking in his warmth like she would never feel it again. He shook a little as he held her, drawing back only to lay kisses on her face, her hair, her lips…

He never seemed to care about the dirt or the grime that living in Azkaban made cling to her. He never minded at how pale or thin she was, he never minded that sometimes all she wanted to do was bury her face in his shirt and cry. He held her for as long as it took, whispered sweet things in her ears, sung and hushed her like she was a scared child.

She looked at him then, his hazel eyes filled with his warmth and a sadness she knew must be in her own.

"_Lily_," he whispered her name like he needed her.

She needed him too.

"James," she murmured back, smiling for the first time in what seemed like decades, she studied him for a moment, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek, "You're not eating properly again."

He seemed to sob and laugh at the same time, the sound was heart wrenching.

"I'll do better," he promised, pressing a hand over where hers lay on his cheek, "I just missed you."

"I missed you too," she said gently, suddenly feeling like all the shadows were being chased away by his mere presence.

"The next appeal is in a week," he said, "We're going to get you out Lily, this time for sure."

Its what he always said, his eyes burning with a fierce hope and Lily found she could do nothing more than smile and nod in agreement.

"This time for sure," she repeated, though she knew he'd be disappointed again.

He seemed to read her thoughts because his eyes started to water and he opened his mouth.

"Lily-" he began.

"Hush," she placed her cool fingers to his lips, "Everything will be okay."

He cracked a smile at her, it was weak, but there was the tremor of his old, mischievous self in it. He sat beside her and held her for as long as he could, until the guards came back. She held him as tight as she could, wanting to soak in a little more warmth, savour the man she loved just a bit longer, but like every other time, it ended far too soon. He went away, escaping her like the sunlight and she was left alone, alone in the dark.

**HPHPHP**

He left the prison in a zombie like state, everything about him felt numb and far too cold. He hated coming here, he hated seeing his wife in there and he hated not being able to do anything about it. She was wearing away in front of him and he could do nothing to stop it.

He passed the sneering face of Crabbe, the warden. The thick faced man seemed to take exceptional pleasure in James' pain and since his installation to the position a year ago had been cutting his visits with his wife on a whim. James resisted the strong urge to turn around and punch the man, the very thought of being on this pathetic excuse for a wizard's beck and call made his stomach churn. He instead clenched his fists and walked away, Apparating as soon as he could.

Coming home without Lily was always painful, in the nine years they had been separated, he still hadn't gotten over the feeling of returning to an empty house. He still kept it the same, not having replaced a single photograph over the years or even touched her belongings more than to keep them clean. He swung open the wrought iron gate and followed the garden path to the kitchen door.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, he slumped down into one of the chairs at the breakfast table and buried his head in his hands, trying not to cry. Every time he went, leaving became harder and harder until he started thinking staying in that awful place with her would be preferable than living without.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but eventually he felt calm enough to get up again, wandered over to the fridge door and extracted a bottle of pumpkin juice from its confines. He wanted something stronger, but quelled the urge.

He needed his head on him tonight.

He carried the bottle with him through the lounge, ignoring the kidnapped Snitch he had _borrowed_ from Hogwarts as it whizzed past his left ear, and went straight into his study. He sat down at a large desk, opening the bottle as he did and taking a long swig before he turned to the work in front of him.

Paperwork for Lily's next appeal.

He had a list of character witnesses; friends, employers, colleagues and neighbours, heck, he had even managed to convince his wife's nasty sister Petunia Dursley to speak at the hearing. There was also further documentation for a parole hearing, just in case the appeal fell through. It wouldn't help clear her, but Lily home was all he wanted, even if it was with restrictions.

Alice Longbottom, a member of the DMLE and former Auror had immediately taken their case up nine years ago. She had been a good friend to them in the Order and had a son close in age to their own. She had retired as an Auror a few years after her son's birth and had taken up law. She was the one who had sent James the documentation to look over and had been working on each and every one of Lily's hearings over the years.

He fingered through the documents, his eyes skimming over familiar phrases that stuck out in his mind above all the litigation; _Defendant was found unconscious in the victim, Harry Potter's bedroom…Self Obliviation appears to be the only explanation for defendant's lack of memory…Psychological evaluation inconclusive…Prosecution theory for motive based on defendant's state of mind…Defendant found guilty on all counts…Hearing for sentencing recommendation…Defendant sentenced to no less than fifteen and not more than thirty-five years in Azkaban 29 December 1986, to be eligible for parole after ten…Amendment to sentence, defendant moved to minimum security holdings in Azkaban 15 February 1988...Appeals to date: Denied 9 June 1989...Denied 28 May 1992...Denied 31 January 1994..._

His jaw clenched as he remembered every single one of those appeals - _the ones that had actually made it through to a courtroom_ - the smug expression on the judge's face, the hungry glints in the eyes of the reporters and the tired, but hopeful look in Lily. He had to drop the papers to stop himself from scrunching them up in his hands.

He sighed heavily, running a hand shakily through his hair whilst setting aside the papers with the other. The trial was still fresh in his mind, he had gone over it again and again in his head, but he couldn't understand where they had gone wrong. The jury should never have convicted Lily on such circumstantial evidence and very appeal to date had ended the same. But that first time, _that trial_, it was the worst.

James didn't know how they did it, but that slimy, no good Death Eater that had questioned her on the day of her trial had twisted everything she said.

He could still remember his jeering voice.

"_So Mrs. Potter,__"__ Yaxley shot at her, __"__You say you and Harry were home alone?__"_

"_Yes,__"__ Lily had answered, her voice soft and her eyes still puffy from the tears she had cried. Merlin, they hadn__'__t even let her attend Harry__'__s funeral. She was chained in the centre of the room, chained to the chair like a common criminal. She wore Azkaban clothes and her face was pale. The Dementors were already getting to her. _

"_And under Veritiserum,__"__ he carried on, there was an oiliness in his voice that made James want to strangle him, __"__You confessed that you had no recollection of committing the crime?__"_

"_Yes.__"_

"_In fact, Mrs. Potter, you can__'__t say for sure whether or not you killed Harry Potter?__"_

"_Objection __Milady!__"__ Alice Longbottom stood up, __"__That is purely speculation_."

"_So noted,__"__ drawled the woman trying over the case, it was the first time James had ever met her, she was a truly toad like woman with an apparent pension for pink, __"__The prosecution may continue.__"_

"_Milady-__"__ Alice tried to object again, but she was cut off. _

"_I have noted your objection, I am allowing the prosecution to proceed with its line of questioning,__"__ the woman, Dolores Umbridge sneered, James couldn__'__t believe it, she actually sneered at them. It was at that moment that he knew they weren__'__t going to win this trial. _

_The judge was bias. _

_And they had no way to prove it._

_He scrutinized the woman for a long moment, he had truly never heard of her before this, it was like she had risen to her position from nothing. And now she was using it to put his wife in Azkaban._

_Yaxley smirked and carried on his inquiry, his icy blue eyes gleaming. _

"_Mrs. Potter,__"__ he said, __"__Isn't it true that the last spell performed on your wand was the Obliviation charm? And prior to that, the Killing Curse.__"_

_Lily's lip trembled, despair glazing her eyes as she shakily answered;_

"_Yes.__"_

"_Isn't it possible, Mrs. Potter,__"__ Yaxley said, looking at the assembled wizards now, __"__That you killed your son and then obliviated yourself to avoid interrogation.__"_

"_No-__"__ she began. _

"_But you don__'__t know for certain? Do you? Do you Mrs. Potter?__"_

_She hesitated for a moment before answering quietly. _

"_No.__"_

_Alice stood up, a vehemence in her voice that James had never heard there before, the kind round face a mask of angry determination. _

"_Objection," she said loudly, "Milady, studies have never been able to prove that it is possible to Obliviate oneself with the dead point accuracy Mrs. Potter experienced-"_

"_But it has never been disproved either," Yaxley interrupted, "Milady, evidence from colleagues, previous professors and students shows that Mrs. Potter excelled in Charm work. In fact, most of them say she is the best they have ever seen. It is perfectly plausible that Mrs. Potter found a way to do so or even managed to get lucky."_

"_It is more likely someone else did it," Alice argued, "Milady, without any previous precedent, the Prosecution can only assume that accurate self Obliviation is still impossible to perform without causing severe mental damage. Thus, reasonable doubt applies. Someone else must have murdered Harry Potter using Mrs. Potter's wand and Obliviated her afterwards. There is no other reasonable explanation!"_

"_There was no evidence of the wards tripping, no record of anyone other than the Potters entering Godric's Hollow that day and no sign of forced entry or of defensive spells used by Mrs. Potter," Yaxley spoke as though lecturing a child, "Mrs. Potter was the only person present at the time of Harry Potter's murder."_

"_There is no motive to suggest-" Alice began, but was cut off by Umbridge. _

"_Enough!" she harped, banging her gavel down, "Objection over ruled, this is a matter left up to the jury. Prosecution may continue it's questioning of the Defendant."_

James banged his head against the desk, unable to carry on with the memory, it made him want to march through the Ministry and hex the woman himself. He couldn't believe the corruption in the place, it was worse than when Voldemort had been taking over.

Oh, they just couldn't wait to rid the world of the Boy-Who-Lived.

And they took down his mother with him.

Harry Potter had been the only known survivor of the Avada Kedavra curse, and the defeater of Voldemort when he was just a baby. He and Lily had been fighting Death Eaters when Voldemort had somehow slipped by them and gotten to Harry's room. Remus had nearly been killed himself trying to get to Harry in time and had even managed to take a chunk out of Voldemort from behind before he was launched across the room and out the window by one of Voldemort's own spells.

Remus had survived, barely.

And Harry, Harry had become the saviour of the wizarding world.

That was why James was so sure of his wife's innocence. It had been Lily's magical protections around Harry that had helped to repel the killing curse and for that, the Death Eaters were ready to make her suffer.

_Why else_, James reasoned, _would every person who contested Lily__'__s appeals be a former or suspected Death Eater?_

There had to be a connection.

Lifting his head, his thoughts roved to the Plan B he had stuffed in the bottom drawer of his desk and smiled grimly. If this appeal fell through, he was going to get Lily out, one way or another.

He instead picked up one of many application forms; all from students who were hoping to come study under him for a time in the art of Transfiguration. After a moments thought, he came to a decision. If things went bad, the last thing he wanted was a nosy little Hogwarts graduate underfoot. He took out a quill and fresh parchment, then dipping the nib carefully into an ink pot, began his first of many rejection letters.

_Dear Miss Rogers, _

_Thank you for your application, unfortunately, due to familial matters, I will not be taking any apprentices this year-_

**HPHPHP**

Harry Potter woke with a start.

He sat up in bed, reaching over for his glasses, it was still dark out and the cold, late winter wind was beating harshly against the window. With a heavy sigh, he rose from bed, not able to make himself return, and headed down towards the Common Room. The fire was just dying in its grate and he found himself a seat as near to it as possible. He felt so confused, even in his sleep nothing made sense anymore. He kept trying to follow his dream to completion, tried to get to the Door, but this night had been different.

For the first time in months, he didn't dream of the Door.

Instead, he dreamed of his parents.

It was better than usual, he supposed.

He could still picture their smiling faces in the Mirror of Erised, their determined looks at the end of his Fourth Year when he had faced Voldemort and the images he knew all too well from the photographs Hagrid had given him.

Would it have hurt something, some great eternal plan, if he'd just had one happy memory of them?

_Apparently so. _

He sighed and stared into the fire, he'd been feeling so angry this year, it was a wonder his head hadn't blown off yet. It just seemed like everything was going wrong; no one believed him and those that did kept him in the shadows.

_Or didn't even look at him. _

He clenched his fist.

_Why was Dumbledore ignoring him?_

And then there was Snape; Harry shuddered as he recalled the memory he had involuntarily seen. The one of his parents.

So young and foolish, he knew it was the fault of every teenager. How could they have ever suspected that in six years they wouldn't even have been there?

They didn't deserve it.

And it was all his fault.

He felt his heart pain at the thought, the thought he kept to himself and brought forward to taunt his heart.

They would probably still be alive, if they hadn't been protecting him.

Why? Why had Voldemort gone after them? Why had he told Lily to step aside?

Why did he want Harry so much?

Surely, if it had been revenge on Lily and James standing against him he would have just killed them all, but why had he asked her to _step aside_? Why had he offered to spare her life?

The thoughts wound themselves up in Harry's head so tightly, he couldn't quite fathom one from the other without setting off his temper again. He knew he was being unfair to Ron and Hermione and he knew he was just taking out his aggression on everyone, anyone else who was near enough.

But it was so hard to stop.

He sniffed, not even realising he had been about to cry and wiped the collected moisture away from his eyes. This was not going to turn into one of those nights. Those nights he just wanted to spend crawled up in a ball and crying, even though every inch of him told himself he wasn't a little boy anymore and shouldn't be doing those kinds of things. It was one of those nights when everything just seemed too much to bear.

It was one of those nights when he missed his parents most.

Would they have the answers for him if they were here? Would they protect him from the people who doubted him? Would they be there for him when he felt like the world was going to close in? Could anyone blame him? He'd like to meet the other fifteen year old wizard who had a mass murderer after him.

He let a lone tear fall.

**HPHPHP**

"Appeal denied," the official presiding announced, banging his hammer curtly on the wood of the table, "The prisoner is to be returned to Azkaban forthwith."

"My Lord," Alice Longbottom argued, her eyes blazing in defence of her friend, "Lily Potter is not a risk to society, the allegations leading to her imprisonment were all completely circumstantial and she has already served nine years for a crime she did not commit, surely you will at least consider early parole? Allow her to return to her husband?"

"_Denied_," the official said again, his chin stuck out in a most pompous way and his fat cheeks practically puffed up with glee, "And I would watch my tone if I were you councillor, we wouldn't want any unnecessary bias come Mrs. Potter's parole hearing."

James really wished he could kill him.

Watching the hopeful light in his wife's eyes die had been the final straw, he began to stew as she was lead away by the Aurors and his teeth clenched.

"Prongs?" Sirius whispered beside him, his eyes filled with concern, "Jamie?"

James took a shaky breath as he and Sirius exited the courtroom, his best friend remained silent whilst James took control of his anger .

"I've been too trusting of the system," James said finally as he walked briskly out of the Ministry of Magic, Sirius trailing behind him, "I've thought that maybe, just maybe, someday someone would see that Lily is innocent, but apparently everyone in Britain is an idiot."

"James-"

"She's innocent," his voice was starting to crack, "Why cant they just let her come home? She's been through so much, she's so-so frail, sometimes I think if I hold her wrong she'd just snap. I-I-"

"James," Sirius took his friend's shoulder gently and turned him toward him, the tears were already beginning to well in James' eyes, "Lets get you home, come on."

They Apparated out of London together, back to Godric's Hollow. Sirius immediately made his friend sit down and poured him a Butterbeer. James nursed it, taking precious few sips of the warm liquid whilst he and Sirius waited for their friend to arrive. Remus Lupin had had to leave right after the hearing on a work emergency, but promised he would return shortly.

James stared at his Butterbeer, the tears starting to fall in a steady flow. Sirius sat beside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was the usual ritual when one of Lily's appeals was denied; it was like James let all the stress wind up inside him like a stone and would only let it drop away for a brief period just to collect it up again once more.

Nine years and who knew how many failed appeals later, it was still the same.

But this time was different.

The judge had practically told them Lily was going to be denied parole too, their last dig for her freedom. He was sick and tired of this system and he certainly didn't think Lily would survive thirty-five years in Azkaban. Internally, he feared she wouldn't last one more year. Shaking himself from his depressed reverie, James swallowed the remains of his butterbeer in one gulp and stood up.

"Prongs?" Sirius questioned, his tone surprised.

"We're going to Plan B," James said solemnly and Sirius could only nod, his expression turning grim.

"We still don't have a way out," he spoke out, looking at James seriously, "We'll only be ready in a few months."

"So be it," James said, clenching his fist, "We're getting Lily out this time, for good."

With those words it began.

Plan B was now in motion.

They were going to break Lily out of Azkaban.

**HPHPHP**

Fred and George were planning something.

Harry shook his head in amusement as he observed the two pranksters whispering with each other in the corner of the Common Room, ever since Umbridge had banned them from Quidditch, they had been obviously conniving something to get back at her. He hoped Hermione didn't catch them before they put the plan into motion, then again, she might just end up helping them if she could.

He missed teaching the DA.

It had made him happy, happier than he'd been in a long time, being able to teach and work with others. He had cheered with them over every achievement and struggled where they had. It had been eye opening in a way and despite his reluctance at first, he had to admit the experience had taught him a lot about himself and what he enjoyed doing. He still wanted to be an Auror someday, but he wouldn't mind retiring to teach Defence at Hogwarts if the opportunity ever came.

He laughed at that.

He was actually thinking about the possible future again, a future without Voldemort and his bloody followers. It would be nice; a war was coming, he knew that, and thinking that maybe, just maybe he'd get to have a life after that…

It was wonderful.

But short lived.

He looked down at his hand.

_I must not tell lies. _

He still had a long way to go before that day could even look possible again, he got up from his seat and went to post a letter to Sirius.

**HPHPHP**

"You found _what_?" Sirius exclaimed, grabbing the bit of parchment from Remus, it was old and covered in unreadable symbols. The greying werewolf glared at him and wrested the piece of parchment back, carefully smoothing it over.

"Careful!" Remus Lupin hissed at his friend, "That's at least nine centuries old!"

"What is it?" James asked, clearly confused, he looked up from the parchment to Remus and then to the fourth member in their little group.

_Severus Snape. _

"Lupin managed to find an old summoning spell," the man said darkly, his black eyes roving between the three men.

Severus Snape had been James' boyhood enemy for a lot of reasons, all of which he was now ashamed of. These included being part of Slytherin house, being different from anyone else and, to James' chagrin, being Lily Evans' best friend. It had taken a lot for James to admit to himself that he had been a bully at Hogwarts and even more for him to admit that in a lot of ways, he had made Snape the man he was sixteen years ago. A part of him often wondered, if he had just been a little nicer or even just left Snape alone, would he have still hated anything to do with Gryffindor so much? Would he have felt more confident in his friendship with Lily? Would he have joined the Death Eaters?

James knew it was fruitless to torment himself with _what ifs_, but it was certainly tempting. He knew somehow, that if it hadn't been Snape, it would have just been another Death Eater who heard the Prophecy. It was meant to be heard and Voldemort was meant to mark his equal. James knew that.

It didn't mean he had to like it though.

So no, the Marauders and Snape weren't exactly friends, but they did have the same goal.

Getting Lily out of Azkaban.

"A summoning spell?" Sirius scoffed, "What goods that going to do?"

"It bypasses _all _wards and barriers," Remus said dismissively, taking the parchment back from Sirius, "Severus and I have translated as much of it as we can, but from what we've been able to gather it should be able to transport Lily out of Azkaban and here without the Dementors becoming aware or the wards tripping."

"You're sure?" James asked, his face filled with anxious hope.

_If this worked…_

"Don't get your hopes up Potter," Snape said testily, shifting uncomfortably in the Potter's kitchen, "There's not much of a guarantee."

"But can we try it?" James asked, his eyes directly on Snape's, the two men were both in love with the same woman and both knew it. Sometimes, though not often, it gave them a kind of understanding James had with no one else, not even Sirius.

Snape hesitated.

"Lupin and I have been testing it on objects and the effects have been satisfactory," he said slowly, "But we have yet to try it on something living."

"Then that's what we need to do," James looked at Remus, "Mooney, did you get this from the Department of Mysteries?"

Remus didn't quite meet James' eyes; the Marauders had obviously been a bad influence on the werewolf Unspeakable. Remus had always thought it was funny that no normal job would have him because of his condition, but the most secretive job in Britain wanted him specifically for it.

He never mentioned why though and James and Sirius were wise enough not to ask.

"They wont miss it," he said dismissively again and smiled, "Not if we hurry of course."

James blinked in surprise and smiled too.

"Mooney," Sirius chuckled, "You're brilliant."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"So how do we test this?" James asked.

"We need something large and breathing," Remus said slowly, "Something far away, that wont be missed if we accidentally kill it when it gets summoned-"

"What about a cow?" James suggested, "There's a dairy farm twenty-six miles north of here. We could try that first."

Remus looked thoughtful, he looked at Snape who nodded in agreement.

"Okay," he said finally, "We'll summon a cow."

"This is going to be one of those strange days, isn't it?" Sirius commented, rising from the kitchen table, "Okay, so what do we do first?"

"Someone needs to be the focus point," Snape said, then sighed, "I'll do it, I've summoned with this spell before."

"What is the focus point, exactly?" James asked.

"The person who envisions what needs to be summoned."

It sounded simple enough and James took heart at the fact. He also remembered that it was unlikely Snape had ever been to the farm he was talking about and said as much.

"Maybe I should do it then," he suggested, "I've actually _been _to the farm before."

He ignored the incredulous look Snape was giving him and the snicker from Sirius.

"Alright," Snape said curtly, "You do it."

James nodded and stood up.

"So tell me what to do."

**HPHPHP**

"I hate that woman," Harry grumbled, nursing his aching hand in the Murtlap sap. Umbridge had given him detention again, if he had been naïve enough to think it would end during OWL week, he was certainly wrong.

Hermione shook her head and tsked.

"I told you not to say anything," she said, "Harry, you really need to keep a hold of your temper."

"Like you'd be able to if everyone was calling you insane and a liar," Harry bit back, "They're so blind and soon its going to be too late and-"

He didn't finish his sentence, his expression went dark. Hermione didn't say anything else thankfully, but she did study him with concerned eyes as she always did. Harry was running in his mind again Cedric's death and she knew it. She patted his hand comfortingly before getting up to leave.

"Don't stay up too late Harry," she said quietly, "You need to sleep."

Sleep. Harry nearly groaned, they were writing their Astronomy OWL the next day, but he didn't want to sleep yet. Too much was roving around in his mind and he was certain he would have another nightmare. He looked at his best friend, recognised the weariness in her and let go of a heavy breath.

"Hermione?" he said finally, feeling a little guilty.

She turned back.

"Yes Harry?"

"I'm sorry for snapping," he said quietly, she smiled at him and nodded.

"It's okay Harry," she said, "We understand."

With that, she left Harry alone in the empty Common Room, Harry sat back and sighed heavily. Ron and Hermione were his best friends and he was always thankful for their support, especially this year when everything just seemed to be falling apart again. He really had to learn to control his temper better.

He picked up his Astronomy book, leafing through it unenthusiastically. He was pretty certain Astronomy was one of the subjects he wasn't going to take forward to NEWTS, but still, it was better than sleeping.

**HPHPHP**

James stood very still in his living room, wand out and his mind focused as hard as he could imagine on the cow. He needed this to work, it had to work.

He started to chant, the words were strange to him, they jumbled out and sounded bizarre, but he could feel the power in them, sense it to the core of himself.

The incantation done, he focused on a cow he had seen at the dairy before, one the owner had called Betsy. Her brown fur, the way she moved, just like when he and his family had gone up to the farm for the first time and Harry had petted the calves and laughed at Betsy as she mooed and shifted.

Harry, his sweet little green eyed boy, the same eyes Lily had. Harry who had died too soon.

_Harry. _

**HPHPHP**

"You still awake down here?" an amused voice asked from behind him, Harry turned in surprise and smiled at the new comer.

"Oh, hey Ginny," he said softly, "Nah, I was just about to go to bed."

The Fourth Year was just coming down the stairs of the girl's dormitories, dressed in her pyjama pants and a green Weasley jumper, she was carrying a book under one arm, clearly with the intention of sitting by the fire for a late night read.

"Oh really?" she quirked an eyebrow, her red hair gleaming in the candle light, "I heard you landed yourself another detention."

"Guilty," he grumbled, holding up his hand again.

She frowned and sat beside him, her brown eyes gleaming a little, "She's a monster."

"She's in charge," Harry muttered grimly.

"Its no excuse," she whispered, her eyes flashed onto him, "How are you feeling over all this?"

"Pretty lousy," Harry admitted.

He and Ginny didn't talk often, but he found that when they did, he liked it. She had a very calming way about her that set him at ease and made him feel reassured - even if he wasn't. He mildly mused how the girl who had just been 'Ron's little sister' for the past couple of years had morphed into someone he counted as a good friend. He removed his hand from the sap and fumbled to put a bandage on it. Ginny caught it and smiled.

"Let me help," she said, taking the bandage and gently wrapping it around his injured hand. Harry gave a small start, but let her finish the work.

"Thanks," he muttered, a little embarrassed.

"Not a problem," she said softly in return, her eyes coming up to meet his.

Harry felt a little warm inside.

"Are you dreaming about him?" she asked quietly, taking him by surprise.

Harry bit his lip, knowing exactly who she was talking about, it had been a few months ago that Ginny had admonished him over even thinking he was being possessed by Voldemort. He nodded, unable to answer.

"I dream about Tom sometimes too," she said, her eyes cast down for a moment, "If it helps, he is the kind of monster that leaves a few nightmares."

"Ginny-" Harry started, she looked up at him and smiled, cutting him off with one look.

"All I'm trying to say Harry," she said softly, "Don't keep it to yourself, if its bothering you, then tell someone. When you bottle it up and cut yourself away from others, that's when he wins."

Harry blinked several times in surprise.

"Okay," was all he found he could muster up, "Er-thanks Ginny."

She nodded, but still looked a little worried, they remained silent for several long moments.

"I heard you did well on your Defence OWL," she said mildly.

Harry smiled absently. In truth, he was rather pleased about that, even if his resulting smirk in Umbridge's direction - though not completely unintentional - had no doubt earned him the harsher detention. He wasn't really thinking about her comment though, what he found interesting was the expression on the red head's face. She seemed to be struggling with something, biting down on her bottom lip and looking a bit nervous.

"Harry," she began, "I-"

That was when it happened; something bright just popped up in between them, it was a ball of pale white light. Glowing with the same eeriness as a Patronus, it floated right in front of Harry's nose. Silvery wisps danced across it's surface, casting an eeriness that drew the eye to the ball. It seemed to call out to him, whispering silently of promise.

"What is that?" Ginny asked, her eyes widening, it bathed her face in a white light, making her appear paler than she really was.

"I don't know," Harry whispered back, he felt like he had to reach out and touch it. Maybe it was Seeker's instincts, demanding he catch any sort of ball floating around in mid-air. Maybe it was his own knack for wanting to know more than was good for him. But that ball was calling for him to grab it, "I-"

"Harry don't!" Ginny cried, but it was too late.

Before Harry could even make a move to snatch the ball, it sank downwards, into his chest, and suddenly everything started to blur. Ginny's face faded from view and her cry of, "_Harry_!" echoed away.

Harry felt like he was being sucked into something, his stomach was being pulled right out of him, everything was spinning.

Suddenly, it all stopped and Harry hit a warm, wooden floor with a loud thud, his head burst into pain from the impact and his eyes started to dim.

He could have sworn as he slipped into unconsciousness, he heard _Sirius' _voice cry out;

"That is _not _a cow!"

**HPHPHP**

**A/N: I'm going to try to put in as few authors notes as possible, unless something requires a specific reference, so this will be the longest one, promise. **

**1: **_**Moments**_** has been abandoned, deleted, discontinued, brushed aside etc., I decided to write this story instead (its been in my head for a while now) and since I only want one 'travel to an alternate universe' fic, I picked this one. There might be a few aspects taken from the ideas I had for **_**Moments**_**, but the story itself is very different. This is by no means a new concept, but I am trying to put my own spin on things. The main reason for writing this is I wanted something to specifically focus the relationship of Harry and James in. **_**Shadowed Past **_**is a bit too broad for that.**

**2: This is my attempt at writing something slightly darker than I usually do, so there will probably be **_**mentions**_** of character death, torture, PTSD and so on. Nothing too explicit, but you get the picture. Oh, and I suppose I should add in a warning for mild swearing, just so I can say I did.**

**3: I'm probably going to take a few liberties on creative license (especially in regards to how some 'spells' work), but if something really doesn't make sense please feel free to tell me and I will try to rewrite it in a way that does. **

**4: All point of views in this story will be from one of the Potters. **

**5: Pairings, because someone always asks. Are canon, but very mild, I'm attempting to keep this as general as I can, so the only pairing will probably be James and Lily. **

**6: Chapters vary in length, some are short, some are long. Sorry, I seem to lack consistency in this fic. **

**~ Southern Hearts ~**


	2. The Carved Lily

"_Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today.__"_

-Mark Twain

Chapter Two

The Carved Lily

"That is _not_ a cow!" Sirius exclaimed when the body fell in a heap on the floor. There had been a burst of white light, a small ball glowed in front of them before exploding and then a body had fallen out, landing hard on the wooden floors. The men took in their breaths, approaching the body slowly and curiously as one, wands being drawn on instinct.

James Potter stared at the unconscious figure, his face was turned away from them, cheek to the floor. He had a short, dark head of hair and looked to be wearing Hogwarts robes of all things. James recognised loosened black robes, as though the boy had forgotten to get changed after lessons were over and just the peak of a Gryffindor striped tie poking out from under the white colour of his shirt.

_McGonagall's going to kill me_, he thought with a sigh, pocketing his wand again.

He'd been aiming for a _cow_, not a _Hogwarts student. _

_But_, he supposed with a small air of triumph, _at least now we know the spell can get through even the strongest of wards. _

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Remus shake his head in annoyance and bend over to check on the boy, turning him to face the ceiling.

There was a moment of silence from the werewolf, his form covered James' view of their visitor and his back stiffened. Remus gave out a gasp and a furious mutter before turning his head to face the others. His blue eyes were wide and he looked more shocked than James had ever seen him before, not even when he had been confronted by his friends about his 'furry little problem.'

Like he had seen a ghost.

"J-James," he called, his voice shaking.

"What is it Remus?" James asked in concern, immediately terrified they had hurt the kid, "He's alright, isn't he?"

"H-he's fine," Remus said, turning to James, "Only, you might want to look at this."

James blinked in confusion. Why would this concern _him_? He didn't know any students at Hogwarts, so was there something else Remus had noticed? Thinking the worst, James was about to move closer when Sirius interrupted him.

"What are you talking about Remus," Sirius snorted, coming to see what the problem was, "I'm sure all we gave the kid was a fright - _t-t-that's not possible_!"

Sirius' voice had suddenly become strained, almost like whatever he had seen had almost robbed him of the ability to speak.

James, now curious and worried, squatted beside Remus to get a better look, his movements cautious as he was unsure what exactly he would find when he looked down there. He stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on the thin form of a teenage boy with scruffy dark hair, glasses and a face that was all too familiar.

Especially since it looked so much like his own.

"W-what?!" James exclaimed, taking a step back, at the same time Snape took a step forward, though the only thing on his face to change was the fact that he turned several shades paler.

"What have you done Potter?" he murmured in disbelief.

James just shook his head in shock.

_This-this, whatever this was, it couldn't be happening, could it?_

He gave a start when the boy groaned, his eyes opening slowly. He sat up and clutched his head, murmuring in pain before looking around him in confusion. His eyes zeroed in on Sirius and Remus and his expression immediately sagged in relief.

"Sirius?" he said softly, "Professor Lupin? What's going on? How did I get here?"

He caught sight of Snape too, the man was the next closest to the boy and his face turned into a frown of irritation.

"Why's Professor Snape here?" he asked, he turned his head to look back at Sirius and that's when his eyes met James'.

James froze, _those eyes_. They were just like Lily's, the perfect almond shape and the same exact bottle green. The boy's face had gone as white as a sheet, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and looked at James again in disbelief.

That's when James saw it.

The lightning bolt scar protruding from beneath the boy's fringe.

_No. _

"Who are you?" the boy cried, scrambling away from the men until his back hit the far wall of the living room. His eyes darted about at the four shocked looking men, James noticed his stare would go from him to Sirius, back to him then to Remus, back to him again and then to Snape and swerve back to Sirius. Obviously there was something about Sirius that the boy didn't quite understand because suddenly he frowned and his expression became angry.

"You're _not_ Sirius!" he accused, "Who are you? Death Eaters?"

The last statement seemed to shake all four men from their stupor.

"We're not Death Eaters," Remus said quickly, trying to sooth the boy, "We're-"

He stopped suddenly when the boy drew his wand out of his robes, he was holding it with a bandaged hand that was shaking ever so slightly. The wand was pointed directly at Remus. The men all stiffened and Sirius and Snape reached for their own wands slowly, trying not scare the child with their actions because that was all the boy was.

_A child. _

He couldn't be more than fourteen, maybe fifteen and he was such a wraith of boy, skinny and pale, it looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in months. There were dark circles under his eyes and, though they were clearly as bright a green as Lily's, were dull from tiredness, sparked only now by fear and anger.

"This-this-" the boy choked, his eyes straying to James again, "This is a trick, isn't it? Another stupid dream right? He-_he can't be here_!"

The next thing James knew, Sirius was blasted back and the boy was dashing away in a dark blur.

**HPHPHP**

Harry did not waste time to think.

He reacted.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he cried, managing to catch the fake Sirius off guard. The spell hit him in the chest, sending him staggering back and his wand flying through the air. He took the moment of confusion to aim a Jelly-legs jinx at Professor Lupin then took off out of the room. He heard yells of indignation and kept casting shield spells and _stupefys_ behind him as he ran. He exited the living room area into a kitchen, aimed an exploding spell at the kitchen door, kicking away the debris and ran into the night.

He came out into a dark front garden, illuminated by the dim light of a single lamp post and stumbled over a stone path to the garden gate. He turned then, seeing Snape emerging from the door. He felt only the slightest glimmer of justification when he used a spell to throw a nearby flower pot at the man. It hit him right in the stomach, sending him back. Harry didn't wait to hear his gasp of pain or to relish in a little satisfaction and fumbled with the catch of the short, wrought iron gate. It swung open with a creak and he dashed into the road, running in the first direction he turned.

He could hear shouts then and knowing they would join him running down that road soon, he turned off as soon as he could, not caring where he ended up, as long as it was away. He arrived in a well lit street in what looked to be a small village. He kept looking around as he ran, trying to find a hiding place. His eyes managed to take in houses and a small, quiet pub on the corner of the street, it's sign hanging low above an old looking wooden door. _The Lion__'__s Heart_, written in gold script. A red lion, nostalgic of the Gryffindor banner, stood rampant beneath the words.

He could also see a Post Office and a shadowed church yard not far from him. His eyes widened when he saw a sign saying, _Godric__'__s Hollow Postal Service, open Monday - Saturday, 08:00-17:00_, _closed Sundays._

He almost stopped when he read that. He was in Godric's Hollow? The place he'd been born, the place he'd lived with his parents until-

He swallowed hard.

_Until they had died here. _

He was lifted from his thoughts when he heard the slap of feet on tar road and knew at any moment the men were going to see him, it was too light here. He took off towards the church, taking refuge amongst the darkened graves of those buried there. He quickly ducked behind a large tomb stone, waiting.

He heard them pass, they were speaking too softly for him to understand a word. Holding his breath, he waited until he could hear them running off down the main road, keeping himself completely still, his wand out and ready. He didn't dare breathe.

He waited, maybe minutes or maybe hours. Harry didn't know, but he waited until the only sound he could hear were the rustling of leaves being brushed by the wind. Cautiously, he looked round from behind the tombstone, blinking in the dim light. He could not see anyone on the street. He stood slowly, his muscles tensed in anticipation as his eyes darted around for any movement.

Content no one was there, Harry slowly backed up, further into the darkened graveyard. He dared not use the main road out of the village and being unfamiliar with the territory, he wasn't sure he'd be able to find his way in the dark. It had been nearly two in the morning when he had been speaking with Ginny in the Common Room, so he knew he had a few hours still till sunrise. The question was, did he dare hide out so close to these men? Or did he try get as far as he could before stopping?

Maybe there was a way to get out from the other side of this graveyard? A side road, or perhaps it lead straight out into a wooded area? He wouldn't know unless he looked.

He cast _lumos _and started to tread his way carefully amongst the gravestones. His eyes scanning continuously for any movement.

As he walked, thoughts roved in his head. He had been talking to Ginny, then he had touched _that glowing ball-thing _and then he had woken up in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by familiar faces. And one that shouldn't be there.

At first, he had genuinely thought it was Lupin and Sirius, but Sirius didn't have that healthy glow in his cheeks or the beginnings of laugh lines starting to crinkle his blue eyes. If he could describe it, this fake Sirius seemed…lighter.

It was a silly observation, but he knew his godfather.

Lupin had been the next problem, as soon as he had recognised that difference about Sirius, he's seen it in Lupin as well. Dressed in better clothes, with a descent hair cut and a lack of worry in his gate, that Lupin was certainly different. Snape, unsurprisingly, looked about as sullen and displeased as ever, so Harry supposed he must be the real thing.

But the final straw had been the face he didn't know so well and yet had recognised almost immediately. Older and sterner than the photographs he had, it was a face he had studied many times, a face very much like his own.

_James Potter. _

He shook his head against the thought, it hurt like a knife to the heart to see that man in front of him and yet…it made him angry, angrier than he had ever felt before. What was this anyway? Had Voldemort finally managed to infiltrate his mind? Was this his way of torturing Harry? Breaking him down? Who was he going to see next, Cedric? _His mother?_

The very thought of seeing his mother and knowing this could all just be in his head made him want to sob. He gritted his teeth, shaking away the thoughts. In his mind or not, he had to keep away from them, away from all of them.

_Away from his father. _

Something inside pulled at him as he remembered where he was. This was the place where his parents were buried. He remembered the face of James Potter looking down at him with shock and confusion. He remembered the smiling photographs Hagrid had given him. He shined his wand's light over one of the names on the tombstones, pursing his lips with thought. He had to know, now that he was here he had to make sure.

His parents were dead and he needed to see their graves.

_For his own sanity. _

He started running the light from his wand over the tombstones, going over them row by row. He passed name after name, reading and then forgetting as he moved onto the next. A few did stick in his mind though as he passed; a _Lucas Gryffindor _being one, born and died in the twelfth century, his name had been so worn it had taken Harry several minutes to decipher it. He also passed quite a few that read _Peverell_, it must have been a family that lived here long ago. Eventually, he found a pair of tombstones that read _Potter_. But they weren't his parents, the couple had lived and died here maybe a hundred and fifty years past, so he moved on.

His light cast on a newer looking tombstone.

He nearly dropped his wand.

His mouth hung open and his eyes widened as he read;

_Here Lies _

_Harry James Potter _

_31__st__ July 1980 - 25__th__ May 1986 _

_Beloved Son_

His arm lowered in disbelief and he caught sight of a further inscription. Below _Beloved Son_, a lily flower had been carved into the stone and below it the elegy; _Like a star in the darkness, he gave laughter and hope to those who loved him_.

He could feel the blood draining from his face and looked down as his foot crunched something. He bent over, feeling around through damp grass and sodden leaves until his fingers wrapped around a small, wooden cross, almost like the ones found on World War I memorial sites. Words had been written on the wood, he held it in front of his wand to read. They were large and messy, like a child had scrawled it.

_For Harry, thank you for saving us, rest in peace. _

There were more, he bent down, retrieving more crosses scattered in front of the gravestone, along with flowers and other messages in all different handwritings. Things that read;

_The-Boy-Who-Lived will live in our hearts forever_.

_God Bless your soul, Harry Potter and keep you always_.

His heart began to pound heavily, his hands searching frantically for more. Each one was a message to _The-Boy-Who-Lived, _to _Harry Potter_, to _himself_. He bit back a cry of fear, looking at the writing on the tombstone again.

_He wasn__'__t dead!_

He looked at the date and confusion swept him. This Harry, whoever this was, had died when he was five years old! It couldn't possibly be him and yet, who else had the onerous title of 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'? it was his date of birth, it was his name, but nothing here made any sense. He really must be dreaming.

But he could feel his own blood thundering in his ears, he could feel the cold of the early morning air, he could feel a bruise on his side from where he had landed earlier and he could still feel the sting on his hand from Umbridge's torturous detention. This wasn't like any dream he had ever had before, when he was in Voldemort's mind he felt things from someone else's point of view, never his own and those places he went, they were certainly real. He had never had a realistic dream with himself as present and this place didn't have the feeling of a normal dream either.

Besides, he thought he had heard somewhere, probably from Hermione, that people rarely realised they were dreaming when it was happening.

He could never remember a previous dream where he _had_ realised it. The other options were equally dismal, he was either having his mind tampered with or he had finally gone insane, just as the entire wizarding world had predicted.

On pure stubborn principle, he rejected the latter situation.

It didn't make any sense though, what was the point of this charade? They must have known Harry would be suspicious the very moment they tried to put a dead person in front of him, even if it was his own father. Heck, even if they hadn't they probably wouldn't have gotten away with it for very long, not the way they had made Lupin and Sirius look, or putting Snape in the room with them. If it weren't for the Order, Harry was pretty sure the chances of Snape willingly spending more time with the Marauders than strictly necessary was about equal to a snowball's chance in hell.

It was all so surreal. He felt frightened and angry; who would help him in this made up world? Was he unconscious? Was Ginny running around frantically trying to get help? Was this the point? To drive him mad before letting him finally wake up and prove the Ministry correct?

He shook his head, staring at the grave, _his grave_. He'd had nightmares about this, though he'd always imagined they'd carve his so called title into the stone. He wasn't sure he felt relieved or not that it hadn't been added. The elegy was personal, something a parent might give had they lost a young child. _Beloved Son_, not _The-Boy-Who-Lived_, that felt good somehow, in a somewhat messed up way. Then there was the lily, Harry wasn't sure what to take from that, but who else would put a lily on his grave than _his_ parents? It was like a marking of Lily Potter's love have been engraved forever onto his place of rest, a flower that would withstand the ages.

He heaved a shaky breath, his knees almost buckling beneath him and his wand beginning to tremble in his hand.

"What the hell is this?" he whispered to the night air, not expecting an answer.

But an answer he got.

"My son's grave," came a deep voice just behind him.

Harry spun around, his wand at the ready, it's light casting onto the face of the James Potter look-a-like. His face was stern and clearly displeased.

"Easy boy," he said in a firm voice, "We don't want to hurt you, we just want to talk."

Harry tensed, his teeth gritting and his blood beginning to burn with anger.

"I don't know who the hell you are," he hissed furiously, "But if you think I'm stupid enough to go anywhere with you just because you look like my - like _him_, you have another thing coming!"

The man - Harry refused to associate him as James Potter - rose a dark eyebrow, his wand arm was pointed down and Harry kept his trained on the impostor.

"Who the hell I am?" he repeated, seeming to bite back a snort, "It's who the hell you are that I would like to know."

Harry bit back an angry retort, his eyes straining instead for any of this man's accomplices. If they were going to play these games, then fine, he wanted to no part of it. Content to see no other shapes he stared defiantly at the man.

"You can tell your master I'm sick of his twisted little games," he saw the man flinch and felt satisfied, "I'm not playing them!"

The man frowned at him, confusion colouring his gaze. He stared at Harry long and hard, glasses glinting in the wand light as he rolled his wand between his fingers. Harry wasn't sure how long they stood there in the darkness, just staring at each other, but it certainly seemed forever.

"Look kid," the man started, taking a step towards Harry.

He skirted back, aiming his wand at the man's head.

"Don't come any closer," he ground out.

The man lifted an empty hand and nodded slowly.

"Alright, alright," he said calmly, "We're just talking here."

"Just let me go," Harry said, trying to keep his voice as calm as the man's and feeling a spark of jealousy at the ability. He didn't quite succeed and he mentally cursed the slightest tremor.

The man gave him a humourless smile.

"I can't do that kid," he said softly.

"You have no right to keep me here," Harry retorted, not backing down.

"You're right," the man said complacently with a nod, "You're absolutely right, but you see, we brought you here, so you are our responsibility until we get you home. You were at Hogwarts, weren't you? It was just a spell gone haywire, we didn't intend for you to get in the middle of it. I promise, you're not in any danger."

Now Harry was confused. Did this man really expect him to ignore the face of a dead parent? Of his teachers? Of his godfather? Did he really think this explanation was going to fly? That he had just gotten crossed in a spell gone wrong and taken from Hogwarts - _Hogwarts of all places_! - in the middle of the night? It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow, he bit back a bitter laugh and shook his head.

"Wow," he said dryly, "Elaborate rouse you've got going here, the grave was a particularly interesting touch, but it sounds like _you__'__re_ even getting mixed up. Your _master _won't like that."

The man shot him an angry glare and Harry suppressed the urge to grin. He'd wanted to ruffle the impostor a bit and had made the statement as mocking as he could. He licked his lips, he didn't know how long he had until the others came looking for him and this man. He had to get out of here and run.

The man seemed to read his expression because he suddenly looked ten times as stern.

"Easy now-" he began, but Harry had to make a move.

"_Stupefy_!" he yelled.

The red light shot out towards the man, but it never hit. Instead, a silvery shield hung right in front of him. Harry didn't bother to fire another spell, he turned and ran, shooting shields behind him as he went.

He didn't get far.

He never heard what the man said, or maybe the spell had been silent, but suddenly the world seemed to grow larger. He stumbled in confusion and it continued to grow. His wand was too big for his fingers and he dropped it. That was when he realised the world wasn't growing _larger_, but _he_ was growing _smaller_. He couldn't move, the light from his wand went out and he was plunged into darkness. He heard footsteps, louder than they should be and a looming shadow engulfed him.

It was the impostor.

He picked up Harry's wand and gave it a twirl in his fingers.

Harry gave a cry of protest.

"_Meow!__"_

He froze as the sound escaped him and for the first time looked down at himself in horror. It was dark, but he could just make out two fur-covered paws where his hands should be. He also felt tight and uncomfortable, definitely not in his own skin.

_He__'__d been turned into a cat!_

Harry could have grumbled.

He didn't have time though as realisation dawned on him. He was ten times more vulnerable now than he had been and _that man _had his wand. He quickly tried to make a break for it, only to find that running around on four legs took more concentration than he would have given it credit for.

He didn't know why McGonagall actually willingly turned into a cat, _it was awful_! He had become acutely aware of every sound and smell around him, it was like they attacked him. The scent of rainfall and musty leaves, even the tinge of the impostor's sweat, it was all so strong he thought he would gag. He tried to cover his nose with a paw but it did little to dull the onslaught. His eyes were blurring between perfect focus and shadowed mass, like they were trying to adjust to this new body and failing.

He suddenly understood why becoming an animagus was dangerous, it was more than just becoming an animal, it was adjusting to a whole new set of rules. And for someone turned into an animal against their will, they were helpless until they could figure out how to work their new body.

Harry almost felt sympathy for Malfoy's ferret episode.

_Almost. _

He lifted his left paw and put it on the ground, he had to figure this out quickly before the man noticed him. He didn't know what the impostor was doing exactly, but he flinched away from a booming voice, words too loud to understand and a brief, but mostly blurred flash of silvery light. He ignored it and quickly lifted his right paw.

_So far, so good_.

All he had to do was time it. He tried putting his left feet, front and back, forward together and nearly toppled over. _That wasn__'__t it_. Then he tried moving a front leg with it's opposite back leg, _that seemed better_. He managed to take a shaking step forward. He did it again, but on the third try he stumbled.

_Okay, not working. _

Eventually, he decided to jump, his front legs going out first, then joined by his back legs. He gained momentum then, as soon as his back legs came close to his front, he lifted the front off the ground and leapt again.

He would have smirked in triumph had he the facial muscles to do so, he must have looked like a leaping _frog_.

"Oh no you don't," his ears seemed to be getting better, because this time he understood the words.

Harry jumped faster, trying hard to get away. Suddenly, he was lifted up and turned about face to the man. He looked down, guessing that he had been levitated several feet in the air. His eyes were starting to clear up now and he tried to glare defiantly at his pursuer.

He wasn't so sure he'd pulled it off.

"You're a feisty little bugger, I'll give you that," the impostor said, clearly amused, "What a cute kitten you make - _ouch_!"

He had extended a hand towards Harry, this the boy-turned-cat did not appreciate, not one bit. Needless to say, Harry was quite happy to find he had learned how to use his claws.

The man sucked his finger, glaring lightly at Harry, who was more than pleased to do so in return. Or at least try to.

"You're coming home with me," the impostor said, casting one last look at the grave - _Harry__'__s grave _- and then walked away, levitating Harry behind him.

**HPHPHP**

**Thank you for the amazing reviews on the first chapter, here's a little teaser for the next. Happy reading!**

**~Southern Hearts~**

**Next Chapter**: The Boy With Lily's Eyes

James closed his eyes for a moment as he allowed the words to sink in.

"This-this isn't right," he whispered, "Did you know this might happen?"

"We told you this spell was risky," Snape said, his voice might have been an octave lower, "That's why we were testing it, remember? I didn't know if this would happen, but I've had my suspicions on the spell's original use since Lupin first brought it to me."

"_Why didn__'__t you tell us?__"_


	3. The Boy With Lily's Eyes

"_Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth_."

- Oscar Wilde.

Chapter Three

The Boy with Lily's Eyes

James felt incredibly pleased with himself.

He shouldn't have been, not really, but he found he couldn't help it. He was resisting the urge to grin at the boy-turned-cat levitating in the air before him as he walked home. It was just the look on the kitten's face that got him; priceless.

He had transfigured the boy into a small black kitten, whose bright green eyes glared at him murderously, tail twitching. It reminded him a little of Max. _His _Harry had loved that old cat; a bad tempered feline with the same dark fur. It had followed his boy everywhere! _Grumpy old thing… _

Pushing away the memory, he concentrated on the humour of the situation, or else be consumed by his thoughts.

Seeing this boy in front of his son's grave had been harrowing, like seeing a ghost. It had been all James could do not to get angry at the kid, but he had to remember that it was _his_ fault the doppelganger was here, not the boy's. Knowing that, it had helped James remember that he was dealing with nothing more than a scared teenager in a strange place.

He had to admit though, the boy's obvious cautiousness was something he could relate to. England was not as safe a place as it had been when he was a child and a little suspicion in one's nature was a necessary adaptation. Accusing them of being Death Eaters was stupid though. If they had been, they likely would have killed the boy as soon as he opened his mouth.

The kid really must be a Gryffindor, brave and stupid in equal measures.

He'd been rather impressed with the boy's escape. The four men had been so shocked by his appearance - _the boy looked just like him for Merlin's sake! _- that the look-a-like had taken advantage of their lapse and broken through.

Slamming a flower pot into Snape's stomach had been a nice touch.

He paused at that and grimaced; he was trying to be mature and apparently failing. He shrugged.

_A little chuckle never hurt anyone._

Yes, thinking about the humorous things was definitely better than the thoughts he'd rather avoid.

_Like the scar. _

He shook his head, stepping into his home and taking the boy back to the living room. The others had apparently gotten his message and were already there. Sirius' eyes widened at the sight of the levitating kitten and he hid a smile behind a hand. Remus tiredly shook his head and Snape just didn't look too impressed.

"Did you-? Is that-?" Sirius kept trying to ask, but every attempt broke out into muffled chortles.

James smiled sheepishly, feeling a little guilty.

"He's cute, isn't he?" he avoided looking at the cat who was staring at him indignantly, or as indignantly as a cat could look he supposed, "Bit nasty with the claws though."

"_James_," Remus groaned, "Turn him back. We're going to have enough problems trying to convince him we don't want to hurt him without you transforming him into an _animal_."

James shrugged, gently setting the cat on the floor. The small, black fur-ball floundered around on his legs for a bit, resembling all the grace of a drunk elf. His slanted eyes darted around for an escape route. James waved his wand and the kitten grew into the dark haired teen he had once been. The boy immediately clutched his head with both his hands and moaned.

"That was not pleasant," he mumbled, moving a hand to cover his stomach, "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Guess a cat's life is not for you," Sirius chuckled.

"Yeah, McGonagall has nerves of bloody steal," the boy agreed, looking up with a weak grin. It faded when his eyes settled on Sirius, as though he had forgotten who he was talking to and the suspicious look flashed back into his face. He tensed up, his eyes darting around, looking angry when he realised he was back where he had started.

"What do you want?" he growled, looking up at them, apparently having forgotten his nausea. His eyes kept darting to James, no doubt attempting to see where his wand was stashed.

"We just want to talk," Remus said soothingly.

The dark haired teen pursed his lips, looking disbelieving and didn't say anything, didn't even move, he just looked up at them, his green eyes glinting fiercely.

It was almost like he was saying; _do your worst_.

"You obviously know who we are," Sirius said, "So who are _you_ kid?"

His eyes widened at that statement, but then he shook his head and mumbled something incoherently.

"What was that?" Sirius asked.

"I said," his voice was strong now, the quiver having died from it, "I don't talk to _impostors_."

"And how would you know that?" Sirius asked, glaring at the kid now.

The boy cast him an irritated look and James took a step back; it was exactly like a look Lily would have shot at Sirius when he said something stupid. He swallowed hard, the eyes, the scar, the Potter looks; _was it? It couldn__'__t possibly be-?_

"_Well gee_," the boy said sarcastically, jogging James from his thoughts, "Where should I start? How about the fact that the odds of Severus Snape spending more than five minutes in a room with the Marauders is about as likely as snow in summer. Or maybe its that no matter how good your impersonation of Sirius Black is, anyone who knows him would know you're an impostor, he isn't _that_ healthy anymore."

He looked really livid now and he pointed his finger right at James.

"Or maybe it's the widely known fact that _James Potter is dead, you bastards!__"_

That last statement hung in the room like a looming storm cloud, heavy and terrible. James blinked several times, not expecting the declaration. Where had this boy come from? How did he know James? Why did he think he was dead? And why did he look so much like-?

His last thought was cut off when Snape gave a great 'humph!' his dark eyes narrowing. He walked away for a moment, returning with the spell Remus had brought in his hands and a dissatisfied, angry look on his face. He was skimming it over, again and again as though trying to find some fatal clue. Then he turned on James.

"What were you thinking about Potter?" he hissed, "Were you thinking about the cow?"

"Yes!" James said indignantly, surprised by the outburst, "Of course I was!"

Snape gave him a narrow look, his thin lips pursed into a thin line.

"_When_ was the last time you were _at_ this dairy?" Snape's voice was deadly calm.

"A few months before Lily was-" James' eyes widened in shock, "_Shit!_"

It suddenly all came back to him. The images he had been imagining in his head, his determination to free Lily and his own deep longing to see his little boy again. He remembered the cow from that day, but mostly he remembered Harry. And that was what he had ended up focusing on; _Harry_.

"You were thinking about the last time you were there with your family!" Snape snapped at him angrily, making James flinch violently. He wondered if his old enemy was a mind reader; he certainly wouldn't put it past him, "And now look what's happened!"

"But I-that's not-" James shook his head, "_Harry__'__s dead_!"

Everyone in the room, including the look-a-like, stiffened at the statement. Sirius and Remus turned to stare at the boy as though he had suddenly sprouted two heads. Snape though, just kept glaring at James.

"Come with me, Potter," he hissed, stalking off to the kitchen. James winced a little and handed Remus the boy's wand before following.

The kitchen still had it's light on, James hadn't had the chance to fix the door the boy had blasted open and it now hung off its hinges, exposing the inside to the night air. Snape marched him as far from the door leading to the living room as they could go in the small kitchen before turning on him. James was still stuttering in disbelief.

"Harry's dead," he repeated, his eyes wide as he focused on Snape, "That-_that can__'__t be Harry!_"

"_Shut up_!" Snape growled, looking back down at the parchment again, "There was a part of this translation Lupin and I were sketchy about, we thought it meant distance, but now…"

"What translation?" James asked aggressively, shaken from his stuttering stupor, "What are you talking about?"

Snape gave him a glare, his dark eyes filled with irritation.

James had the childish urge to stick his tongue out at the man, but instead just glared back.

"One of the things the spell does, or was theorised to do," the black eyed man said slowly, pointing a long finger at one of the symbols "Displacement between 'the paths of stars'."

"_What?__"_

"That boy has a scar on his forehead, I know you saw it," Snape and James were glaring at each other eye to eye now, "He has your insufferable looks and-and _Lily__'__s eyes_."

It was the first time James had heard Snape falter at anything in his life.

"My point," Snape continued, his voice stern once more, "There is no way to mimic a cursed scar, not one made from the Avada Kedavra curse, and I'm sure if we ran tests we would find it is the same one your son had."

James shook his head.

"Severus," he breathed, using the man's name and ignoring the even greater irritated look he got for it, "That boy can't be Harry. My son is _dead_."

"Think about it Potter," Snape said, almost tiredly, "It makes sense _now_, the '_paths of stars__'_is an old term from the Atlantian wizards. They believed that there were many different worlds and that all of them were connected by _a path of stars_. This spell causes _displacement_ between them. Therefore, theoretically, it could summon the counterparts of people in various universes."

James blinked several times.

"_Counterparts_?" he repeated, "You mean to tell me that _that_ _boy_ out there is Harry? My son's _counterpart_ from an _alternate world_?"

"You thought about him, didn't you?" Snape's gaze was rigid, merciless.

"Yes-I mean no!" James exclaimed, "I thought about _my _Harry!"

"You thought about a _living_ Harry," Snape corrected, "So it brought you the closest one."

James closed his eyes for a moment as he allowed the words to sink in.

"This-this isn't right," he whispered, "Did you know this might happen?"

"We told you this spell was risky," Snape said, his voice might have been an octave lower, "That's why we were testing it, remember? I didn't know if this would happen, but I've had my suspicions on the spell's original use since Lupin first brought it to me."

"_Why didn__'__t you tell us?__"_

Snape remained silent for a moment, his dark eyes looking away from James.

"It was still our best chance of saving Lily," he said softly, "I wanted it to work more than anything."

James just looked at him sadly and gave a bitter sigh of defeat, he probably would have ignored the risks too if it meant a possible answer. He scratched the back of his head tiredly.

"So what do we do now?" he asked, his voice weak.

"We have literally _ripped_ that boy out of his world," Snape said slowly, "We have to send him back."

"How?"

"I-" Snape stopped, "I don't know…_yet_, we have to find out more about this spell first…"

"You mean to tell me we tried that spell without knowing how to reverse it?" James asked incredulously, "You're kidding me!"

"Well the summoning is all we _needed_," Snape said indignantly, "Its not like we were going to transport Lily _back_ to Azkaban again."

James conceded the point and really couldn't fault the man on his logic, there was no way any of them could know this would happen. But the idea of this boy being _Harry_, a _living_ Harry.

It made his stomach squirm.

He had to know for sure, was this boy Harry Potter? He remembered the grave and the boy standing in front of it. He remembered that _feeling_, like watching the ghost of his son rise up in the shadows, the wands glow making him seem supernatural and other worldly.

_He had to know!_

He turned from the kitchen to do so, but Snape stopped him

"Don't frighten the boy, Potter," the Potions Master said, "His universe is probably infinitely different from ours and you heard him earlier, the James Potter he knew was dead. If he is your son, seeing his now living father is going to be traumatic for the boy, we don't know _how _you died."

James looked at him oddly.

"Why do you care so much?" he found himself asking, "You hate anyone with the name Potter."

Snape shrugged, a haunted look painting his face and only repeated what he had said earlier;

"He has Lily's eyes."

**HPHPHP**

_Harry's dead!_

The words echoed in Harry's mind, making his blood run cold as he recalled the gravestone - _his gravestone! _- and shuddered. He'd backed up against a wall, sliding down to sit on the wooden floor, propping his back up. Lupin and Sirius were muttering quietly amongst themselves, waiting for James to return. They hadn't even looked at him. He wasn't so sure he minded that or not. Confusion ravaged him, making his head spin and his chest hurt. He was feeling so angry all of a sudden. So, so angry. People impersonating those close to him, that he _could_ handle, but when they brought one of his dead parents into the mix…

That was just pitiful and _insulting_.

When he had first woken up in the room, someone's living room it looked like, he had been confused and disorientated. For a moment, he had thought maybe he had fainted and Lupin and Sirius had come to see him.

But that wouldn't make sense, Sirius was in hiding.

Then he had seen the fake James Potter and it was like something finally burst.

_How dare they!_

Did they actually think he was that _stupid_? Was this Voldemort trying to exploit a weakness?

And then for the fake Sirius to pretend he didn't even know Harry.

That was like adding salt to the wound.

He tried to calm his heavy breathing, he just had to find a way out of here, out of whatever this was, and find help, _some _kind of help. He tried to ignore the quizzical looks the fake Sirius and Lupin were now sending him, concentrating instead on how he could figure out what was going on. Maybe, just maybe, this really was all in his head. It wouldn't be the first time he had mistaken a dream for reality.

He shook his head and banged it on the wall at his back several times.

"Wake up," he murmured to himself, "Wake up."

"What are you doing kid?" fake Sirius asked.

_Oh, _Harry thought, _so now I get their attention, well I don__'__t want it. _

"Go away," he said closing his eyes, "You're not real."

He didn't notice the men exchanging glances.

"Well that's nice," fake Sirius snorted, "Of course we're real!"

"No you're not," Harry argued back, his eyes still closed, "Either your impostors who have kidnapped me, figments of my bloody imagination or an evil mass murderer messing with my head."

"Why would an evil mass murderer be messing with your head?" fake Lupin asked curiously.

"You know," Harry said wryly, "Next time he tries to kill me I'll ask, cause he's just _so_ big on conversation."

The dry humour earned him a snicker from Sirius.

"He sounds like Jamie," Harry heard him mutter.

Harry cracked an eye open to see the fake Lupin and _James_ (who had now reappeared in the room) glaring at the fake Sirius, who was shrugging with a grin. Fake James sighed, a determined look coming onto his face and stepped forward towards Harry. He came up really close, kneeling right in front of him. Harry felt his heart skip a beat, this was _really _unfair.

It was a bloody good thing this was all a dream or Harry would seriously be doubting his sanity. Not that he hadn't been the whole year, but well, that was different. Everyone in school was doubting his sanity and Harry was just worried he was being possessed by Voldemort.

Still, this absolutely could not be real.

"Tell us your name," fake James said sternly.

Harry looked at him in disbelief.

"Oh _you _are _definitely_ not real," he said instead, "Leave me the hell alone so I can wake up!"

"You're not asleep," was the soft response.

"So says the _dead man_," Harry scoffed, banging his head against the wall again and winced, "Though, that is starting to make my head hurt."

He noticed the fake James' lips twitched a little, but the hazel eyes still remained on him.

"I'm not dead."

"Then you're _not _James Potter," Harry countered, "I _know_ he's dead."

"How do you know that?" the fake retorted sharply.

Harry didn't answer.

He wasn't about to tell people who were _not real _that he knew his father was dead because he could hear his last moments every time a Dementor came within a few feet of him. That he had grown up an orphan his entire life. That he had seen an imprint of his father come out of his murderer's wand.

Instead he just glared at the fake version of his father. They had done a good job on him, whoever was putting him through this dream. James Potter looked fourteen years older than the photographs Harry had of him were. His face was sterner and there was the hint of wrinkles starting to form on his forehead.

_Were those worry lines?_

Harry resisted the urge to frown in confusion.

"Please just leave me alone," he bit out instead, unconsciously lifting up his arms defensively against the phantom of his father; _he couldn__'__t handle this_. This was like his dream come true and he just couldn't handle it because soon he'd wake up and it wouldn't be real.

"Look," the fake James began irritably, "I-"

The impostor's expression suddenly softened. Harry realised with a jolt that there was a hot tear burning its way down his cheek. He gave a traitorous sniff and hastily wiped it away with his un-bandaged hand. It was too late though, fake James had seen it and - to Harry's surprise - his face took on a concerned look, his eyes didn't seem as hard and there was almost a piteous light in his gaze.

It made Harry angry to see that. He hated being pitied, he didn't need anyone feeling sorry for him. His cheeks heated and he fought the sting at the back of his eyes as more tears both of pain and frustration threatened to break out.

Harry never cried in front of anyone, he wasn't about to start now.

"We're not going to hurt you," fake James said gently, clearly trying to sound reassuring, "We want to send you back home, but you've got to tell us who you are."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. What the hell was he on about now? He knew exactly _who_ Harry was! Was this man trying to trick him, or was he just plain stupid? Deep inside, he could feel his heart twang. Impostor or not, it hurt not to be recognised by his own father.

James bit down on his lower lip.

"Go away," Harry begged, hating himself for not being able to keep the quiver from his voice, "Just go away. I can't do this _anymore_."

James didn't back down though, but for the first time, Harry was pleased to note a tremor of nervousness as he spoke.

"Are you-I mean-uh-is your name Harry?"

He rose an eyebrow, not expecting the hesitant tone, as though the man both hoped and dreaded the answer. Unsure of how to respond, Harry didn't say a word.

But it was clearly all the confirmation the fake James needed.

"Dear sweet Merlin," he whispered, rising to his feet again and running a shaky hand through his hair, "Oh Lord, _help me_."

A few moments passed in silence. Lupin and Sirius were staring at him now, there was something in their expressions that had Harry fidgeting. Snape, thankfully, looked at him with no more than obvious contempt. At least that was the same.

Finally, James knelt down again, he looked shaken up, but he held Harry's gaze in his own.

"Listen _Harry_," the way he said Harry's name was strained, "I know this is really confusing right now, but you have to trust me on this. I am _not_ your James Potter, like you said."

"Not _my_ James Potter?"

Harry just looked at him, trying to decipher just how mad the man was. He was still trying to convince him that this was all real and yet, it couldn't be real. _It just couldn__'__t_! But the man continued, rapidly, like an errant child trying to talk their way out of trouble.

"We performed a spell, it displaced you from your universe and-"

"_Wait, wait_! What?!" Harry forced a laugh, "What is this, _Star Trek_?"

James wasn't laughing though and neither was Professor Snape, Professor Lupin or Sirius; Harry looked around the room at the four men, his smile fading. He hadn't expected a room full of wizards to understand the analogy, but the utter seriousness, the _pity_ in their eyes, made him worry.

"That's not possible," he said in a low voice, he knew it was more likely he'd been kidnapped or was dreaming the whole event. But logic told him that he had been perfectly awake when Ginny had been speaking to him and that the pain in his head was definitely real, also, as Hermione was constant to remind him, there was no way to Apparate in or out of Hogwarts. It was possible, of course, that he had been subject to some sort of port key, though the feeling he'd had had been different to the last time he'd used one.

"You're from another world Harry," James said softly.

Harry swallowed hard and looked at the four men, his brow furrowing.

This was certainly one explanation he had not considered. Probably because it was absolutely impossible! At least, Harry was pretty certain it was. Then again, he had thought time travel impossible too just three years previously. It was here that Harry had to admit to himself that, in truth, he was still a novice about the magical world. Maybe there _was_ such a thing as travelling across dimensions and maybe, like time travel, it was forbidden. He just didn't know and he didn't have Hermione around to ask either.

He looked between the four men, three very familiar faces and one he thought he'd never get to see. The possibility of them actually being real, it made his heart pain uncomfortably.

"How do I even know you are who you say you are?" he asked, "You could very well still be Death Eaters who have kidnapped me."

He watched them exchange glances.

"Ask us something then," Professor Lupin said reasonably, finally turning to Harry, "If you're James' son, you _know_."

He didn't have to say it, but the words were evident in his eyes and Harry knew what Remus Lupin wanted him to ask about. He felt a little irritable with Lupin though; what did he mean _if_ he was James' son?

"Fine," he said a little hotly, and looked directly at his father and then to Sirius, "Show me your animagus forms."

Sirius and James both looked surprised, they exchanged a glance and nodded. Sirius went first and Harry felt himself burst with relief at the familiar sight of the shaggy black dog that was his godfather's form. Then it was James' turn, Harry watched in wonder as his father shifted into Prongs.

It was even better than he imagined.

The great stag stood proudly in the middle of the living room, his antlers jutting out like a crown. Big, brown eyes sparked with intelligence a normal deer wouldn't have and fixed on Harry.

"Stay like that for a second," he told the stag and got shakily to his feet, he had to be sure that this was really Prongs. It looked like it, but he needed to be sure.

"Can I have my wand?" he asked Lupin, the man hesitated, looking a little suspicious of the request.

"Please," Harry continued, he didn't like the fact that his voice sounded so pleading, "I just need to make sure of something."

Lupin regarded him oddly, but handed the wand over. Harry noticed he kept a hand on his own and almost smiled. Always the cautious one.

"_Expec_-" he stopped himself and coughed, his voice had died for a moment there, he pushed a happy thought to the fore front of his mind, "_Expecto Patronum_!"

The silvery stag bounded out of the tip of his wand and went to stand beside the flesh and blood Prongs. The real one's eyes widened and he skirted away a little. Sirius, in his dog form, came up to sniff at the apparition, the Patronus shook it's antlers and Sirius took several steps back. Lupin's eyes were wide too.

But there was no mistaking it in Harry's eyes, despite the fact that one stag was made from silver wisps and the other was flesh and blood, they were identical in every way.

No one could mimic that.

Harry let the Patronus fade away, he barely noticed when the two men transformed back into themselves, his wand arm dropped and he looked at the floor, trying to blink away the hot tears that were welling up. He shook his head and stumbled back, falling to the ground as disbelief encompassed him. The Marauders immediately rushed forward as he fell, trying to assess that he was alright, but Harry was too overwhelmed to even notice them.

"Padfoot and Prongs," he whispered, "Oh Merlin, that was _Prongs_."

It was suddenly difficult to breath.

**HPHPHP**

James Potter watched in wonder as the silver stag disappeared and felt amazed that his animagus form was this boy's patronus. Would his Harry's have been-?

He almost shook himself; he couldn't make comparisons! His son was dead; dead and buried. He'd been there on that windy day when they had lowered his little boy into the ground, _this_ child, _this _boy in front of him, this _wasn__'__t_ Harry. This was _another_ man's son.

_He wasn__'__t Harry. _

Then the boy stumbled backwards, it was like his legs had suddenly turned to jelly; because he just fell. James felt a spark of panic wash over him.

"Padfoot and Prongs," he heard the boy whisper almost hysterically, "Oh Merlin, that was _Prongs_."

He felt guilty then, this boy had lost his father, he'd said so himself and here James was worrying over his own feelings about the child. It wasn't this Harry's fault he'd been dragged here after all.

They had to send him back.

"It's okay Harry," Sirius said softly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, "We'll get you back home."

The boy wiped his face, his wand dropping with a soft clutter on the floor.

"I can't-this isn't-_Dad__'__s alive_-"

Without any warning, the boy suddenly sagged. Sirius caught him before he could fall backwards; Harry had passed out.

"I guess that was too much for him," Remus sighed, he studied the boy's face, "Oh James, he looks so much like you."

"Let's just get him into the spare bedroom," James said quickly, "I don't think I can deal with _this_ right now."

He had his hands clenched, the concern he felt for the boy was starting to over power his judgement of the situation. He just had to keep reminding himself of what was really happening.

Remus cast him a worried look, but nodded and scooped the boy up without much effort, carrying him from the living room and disappearing up the stairs. James ran a hand shakily through his hair again, ignoring the looks Sirius and Snape were giving him. They didn't move, only waited in silence until Remus returned.

He came back a few minutes later, his eyes still wide and his face a little pale. He looked at James, directly into his eyes. James resisted the urge to take a step backwards, he had rarely seen such an intense look come from his old friend, then Remus looked away, the tired look he always wore back and James wondered if the previous stare had actually happened.

"How did you even know we were animagi in the other world?" Sirius asked curiously, breaking the silence first.

Remus shrugged.

"I took a chance," he admitted, "He mentioned us being the Marauders earlier and how Severus would never spend more than five minutes in a room with us, willingly of course-"

"Also true," Sirius scoffed, ignoring Snape's sneer.

"Exactly," the werewolf looked at his friend wearily, "I just guessed, if that similarity was true, then there was a good chance the Marauders were the same in his world and in _every_ way."

"Hard to kill a magic like ours," Sirius joked, "We're inter-dimensional!"

No one laughed at the joke, though James and Remus did give small, amused smiles. Snape just stood, arms folded over his chest, dark eyes boring into each man in turn impatiently. It was this look that set James back on target, he resisted the urge to once again brush a hand through his scruffy hair, remembering with a small shudder that Harry had the same. Exactly the same.

_Merlin_, he thought to himself, _I can__'__t escape it_.

Sirius, once again, broke the silence.

"I cant believe it, Harry-"

"Its not Harry," James said bitterly, knowing he was making a fruitless point, but unwilling to let it go, "Just a look alike."

Sirius' eyes hardened.

"James-"

"I know Sirius," James cut him off, "But we have to remember that he is not Harry. He isn't the same boy you bought that toy broom for, he isn't the same boy who used to make me read him a bedtime story before he'd go to sleep, he isn't even the same boy Lily brought into this world. That child is _dead_."

"We're not saying he's Harry's replacement," Remus said, "James, we don't know how long it'll be before we get him home. Maybe you should look at this as an opportunity. He may not be the same boy, but he's a possibility of what Harry could have been. Don't you want to know?"

"Yes," James gritted out, "I want to know what my son may have been like, I want to know what its like to be a father again, I want to have my family back. But this boy isn't family, he's _another_ James Potter's. My wife is rotting away in Azkaban and this boy being here only hinders the process of freeing her!"

"You need to be gentle with him James," Remus admonished, "His Patronus is _Prongs_! What does that tell you about how much he looked up to his father?"

"We don't know the whole story-"

"Exactly!" Remus exclaimed, "Your presence is probably more painful to him than his is to you. We don't know what his world is like James, _we just don__'__t know_."

James looked from one friend to the other and gave a heavy sigh. This was not turning out to be a good day. He should be concentrating on getting his wife out of jail. She wasn't going to last much longer. If this spell didn't work, then he should be thinking of another way now, _any_ other way, to get Lily out of Azkaban.

Not worry over his long dead son's counterpart from another world.

"Get a grip, the lot of you," the Potions Master snapped, surprising them all, he looked directly at Remus, "You and I will work on a way to send the boy home. _Immediately_. It would be troublesome if he was around when we had to hide Lily."

He left silent the unknown effect such information would actually have on Lily and instead pointed to Sirius.

"You Black, just carry on gathering information until we can come up with a new plan, if anything changes inside of Azkaban's walls, we need to know about it first," he then looked at James, his black eyes daring the man to challenge him, "And you Potter, whether you like it or not, that boy is _your _responsibility until we can send him home. _You _summoned him here. _You _look after him."

James never thought he'd be scolded like a school boy by Severus Snape of all people, but he couldn't ignore the cold reason, even if he didn't like it. He looked at his two old friends, at his unwilling ally and gave what felt like the hundredth sigh this evening. _Merlin, but he was starting to sound like a love sick girl, sighing indeed!_

"Alright," he said, his voice calmer than he felt, "He can stay here."

He quashed down his fears of how he was actually going to take care of the boy, a weak part of his mind briefly considered putting this Harry into a small, magical coma until he could be sent back. Maybe then the boy would just wake up in his world and think the whole thing was a horrible dream. He dismissed the thought though, it seemed…cruel somehow. He was not willing to manipulate Harry like that, even if it wasn't really his son.

Snape nodded, clearly satisfied with that much.

"I will take my leave then," he said briskly, already turning towards the front door, "I'm expected back at Hogwarts."

James offered no protest when the Potions Master exited his home, he instead turned a tired gaze to his oldest friends, now deeming it safe to actually break down. Even if he didn't really want to.

"This has turned into the strangest night of my life," he commented dryly, his eyes somewhat transfixed to the now closed door.

Sirius let out a chuckle, finally breaking the tension.

"Like I said it would, though I'm sure there have been stranger," he seemed to ponder this, "What about the time we cast that compulsion spell on the Christmas pudding back in Fourth Year? It made anyone who ate it dance with the first person they saw and little Professor Flitwick leapt up, grabbed Minnie and started doing the tango."

The three men chuckled at the memory; the dwarfish Flitwick trying to lead poor McGonagall in the tango had been a peculiar sight indeed. Especially when he had attempted to dip her backwards in his far too short arms. James was glad for the brief distraction.

"Good times," he agreed with a broad smile as the laughing subsided.

"You'll be fine, James," Remus said finally, a kind look coming into his eyes, "Just be gentle with the boy."

"Gentle?" James shook his head, "Merlin Remus, I'm not sure I remember _how_ to be gentle."

The years had taken their toll on James Potter, indeed they had on all the Marauders. Childish fantasies of right and wrong had long ago been swept back into the recesses of memory when it had become apparent that the war they had all fought so hard in had meant nothing. Their side may claim to have won, but the opposite was true. The ideology they had fought so hard to stop was slowly starting to trickle back into wizard society. Though no politician would ever admit it straight out, the general treatment and many of the laws concerning those of muggle birth and half magical parentage were slowly becoming more and more unfair. If Snape was anything to go by, the percentage of Muggle-borns entering Hogwarts each year was gradually decreasing.

No, no one was gentle anymore, the times had hardened witches and wizards to care about one thing only; survival.

James often thought that it had all started with Lily, that it had been her prosecution that had opened up the flood gates to so much more. That and the death of Harry Potter, who even at the age of five had been seen as a symbol of what the wizarding world had strove so hard for. The fact that he had been killed seemed to discourage a lot of people and encouraged a lot more that Voldemort would soon return.

And who was to say he hadn't already, or at least, something of his spirit had.

"I'm sure you'll learn," was all Remus said, his eyes shining with that same kindness and maybe just a hint of pity.

James wanted to turn away from it. He didn't need it, all he wanted was his wife, not his son. He had long ago given up wishing to have Harry back with him, long ago accepted he would never see the little boy again. Why were the fates so cruel? He hadn't been asking for anything impossible. He hadn't asked for someone who was dead! He'd just wanted Lily back, just wanted to feel her soft skin again, run his hands through her red hair and hold her, whisper things in her ears and watch as she smiled with mirth and warmth. He wanted her to tell him off again, scold him for doing something stupid, laugh at his antics and roll her eyes at his jokes. He wanted her back so much it hurt.

Sirius seemed to notice the pained expression on his face, because he slapped a hand on his back and said in an encouraging voice.

"Don't worry so much, Jamie," he barked happily, trying to lighten the mood, "You're going to rival old Mooney with grey hairs pretty soon. I think I can see a new one growing right about there…"

James swatted him away playfully, shaking his head.

"Careful Padfoot," he warned mockingly, "They're catching."

Sirius gave him a look of mock horror and backed away.

"Well then," he countered, "You better go get your beauty sleep. Wouldn't want you to look haggard as well as grey."

The man gave him a toothy smile, mischief dancing in his blue eyes. James was grateful to Sirius, the man had somehow managed to maintain a little of his boyishness despite everything that had happened the last decade. He was what kept James and Remus going, always there to lighten their hearts.

"I'll do that," James Potter said wearily, unwilling to argue, unwilling to think of what he was to do with that boy in the morning. Right now he wanted the sweet oblivion of sleep, to slip into dreams of holding Lily, if only for a little while.

"We'll come back in the morning," Remus said, "Harry passed out, but he looked tired enough to sleep through the night. I suspect his reaction was a combination of shock and exhaustion. That boy does not look like he's been sleeping properly."

James couldn't help but nod in agreement.

"Or eating," he added, remembering how skinny the boy looked and unconsciously slipped into a parenting role. It was hard not to around a child though, "I'm sure I have enough here to at least give him a descent breakfast in the morning."

He sighed again. _Curse his sighing!_

"It's the least I can do," he grimaced, "Merlin! What a mess!"

Sirius and Remus eventually left too, leaving James alone in Godric's Hollow with his son's counterpart. James sullenly climbed up the stairs, it was late and he was tired, more tired than he had been in years. He stopped in front of the door to the spare room, fighting a little with himself. He took a deep breath and entered cautiously. The light from the hall flooded the room, falling on the bed and the figure who lay on it. Remus had taken off the boy's shoes, they lay next to the bed, and had placed his glasses and wand on the bedside table. The blanket was carefully tucked around him and James couldn't help but smile at the werewolf's attentiveness.

The smile faded when he saw the boy shift and froze, fearing he was about to wake up. But he didn't.

Curious despite himself, James crept a little closer, his eyes widening in wonder. He almost drew out a hand to touch him, but stopped himself. He couldn't think of this Harry as a son, couldn't go down that painful road.

It was amazing, he thought as he watched the sleeping boy, how much more like Lily he looked when he was asleep. There was something about the softness in his expression that screamed Lily Evans Potter all over it. Those parts of his features that came from Lily seemed more apparent when he relaxed, the more gentle shape of the jaw, the shorter nose and the almond shaped eyes. James smiled a little and did give into his first instinct this time, reaching out and brushing the boy's hair softly.

His heart pained and yet, he didn't want the moment to end. But it would, and in the morning, he would have to figure out how he was going to bear this, _if_ he could bear this.

_Merlin, but life seemed to like testing him. _

**HPHPHP**

**A/N: I feel like I should explain something. I usually resist answering reviews, but a few questions have been bothering me, so I want to point something out about the way in which I'm trying to write this story that should answer most of them without giving too much away. Because I am writing this story solely from either James, Harry or Lily's view point, you won't be seeing anything they are not experiencing. Also, this means that they are not aware of the motivations of other characters. So for instance, with Snape, James' opinion of him is going to be clouded by his own underlying guilt, Lily will probably view him with a mix of nostalgia and a sense of betrayal, and I think we already know Harry's opinion on the man. **

**A huge thanks to the person who pointed out my technical fault, I don't want to change the chapter, but I have come up with an explanation which fits in fairly well with where I want this story to go. This will be revealed later. **

**A note to all reviewers, if I do make an error in my writing, please feel free to point it out. I want this story to turn out well and your opinions help me to shape and adapt it to that end. **

**As for the chapter, I found this particularly difficult to write. James and Harry's reactions mostly. And too much dialogue, I know. Also, deciding how much to reveal at this point, but overall, it hopefully didn't turn out too badly. I seem to have a thing about Harry fainting when he meets his parents for the first time, but I think it fits into this story with Harry being overly stressed from the events of his fifth year, added to the emotional turmoil of meeting James. I don't know, it just seemed right to write it like that.**

**Forgive me for boring you with a long author's note after I promised not to and thank you for the many wonderful reviews. **

**~Southern Hearts~**


	4. Awake

"_I always talk calamity_

_Beneath the shiny waves_

_An undertow waits on me_

_Put this insomniac to sleep_."

-_The Wishing Well _by **AKing**

Chapter Four

Awake 

Sleep that night had been a fruitless attempt.

Lily coughed and shivered as one of those monsters glided past her cell. Her _cage_ more like. She rubbed her arms, but the cold was internal and there was very little she could do to stay it. She didn't think of happy times anymore, the Dementors would rob her of that, so she thought of other things.

_She hadn't killed her son. _

There had been so much doubt in her mind when she had first been thrown into this hell hole. She couldn't remember a thing about that night. All she remembered was finding her son, seeing his glassy green eyes open in a dead stare, his small body crumpled and unmoving. She remembered the Aurors pounding at the door.

_How had they gotten there so fast? And why hadn't James or Sirius been with them?_

She was certain her husband wasn't even informed of Harry's death until after she had been processed and shoved into an interrogation room.

She hadn't recognised one of the men questioning her.

But she remembered them, as she curled up on a too thin bed. They kept telling her she had killed her son and they kept asking why. She kept telling them no, but they didn't believe her. They presented her wand, told her the Killing curse had been performed on it, accused her of Obliviating herself.

Lily knew Charm work. She knew self-obliviation was impossible. She knew she would never try such a thing.

But for a brief moment, she had doubted.

And they had used that doubt.

She would never tell James about those long hours they had questioned her, never tell him how they had broken her down and made her feel less than human.

It was too much to even remember.

Not once in her life had she felt so degraded, so worthless. It was their voices that haunted her when the Dementors passed, along with visions of her son's dead eyes. She would always blame herself for that, she thought, it had been her duty to protect Harry. She had failed. He was gone.

She knew she wasn't guilty of murdering him, but she would never forgive herself for _allowing_ it to happen. Had he been scared? Had he screamed for her right before the curse hit? Had she seen it happen?

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing not to remember.

She wasn't certain she could have survived this long in Azkaban if she'd had that memory. It would have replayed in her head every waking moment, of that she was sure. Bad enough were his dead eyes, bad enough were the voices of blame and the constant wondering if she could have done something.

Yes, there was an awful part of her that thought she deserved to be in Azkaban.

But she hadn't actually killed Harry. She was innocent.

There was only one thing she was certain of; she had loved her son more than anything and she would never do anything to hurt him. Love wasn't always happy, so it wasn't something they could take away from her and it was something to hold onto. To help drive the nightmares away.

She leaned up against the wall of her cell and closed her eyes, trying to catch a little more sleep. The haze finally took her, dipping her into its murky shallows. She dreamt of James and Harry, their smiling faces. She dreamt of summer and crackling fires at Christmas. She imagined of a time when the sun would bathe her face, when light was always there and when her little boy's laughter was the greatest joy in her life. The Dementor patrols were done and she could finally dream.

"_He's…here..."_

She shot up and looked around. A voice had spoken, seemingly out of nowhere, but it was disjointed and soft. Barely recognisable. Barely human. It spoke as though over an old radio with plenty of static and Lily could only catch every other word.

"_Danger…needs you…"_

"Whose there?" she gasped, clutching her head, "Whose saying that?"

"_Look…him…Please."_

Her vision blurred a bit and she looked around frantically. For a brief moment she thought she could see a shadowy figure standing where there hadn't been before. She blinked and it was gone. Breathing hard, she held her hand over her mouth.

_She was finally going mad! _

Because she thought, for just a second, that it had been her own face staring at her.

**HPHPHP**

Harry woke slowly.

It was perhaps the first time in a long time he had slept without dreams and, although the sleep had not been particularly good or even long enough in his opinion, he felt a little more rested than he usually did. He didn't open his eyes, wanting to remain in the hazy lull of sleep for a little while longer. His mind seemed to be trying to catch up on something.

He couldn't even remember getting into bed last night. It must have been pretty late. He remembered sitting in the Common Room, debating with himself whether or not to study or go to bed. Then Ginny had come down, talked to him for a little while and then…

He frowned, eyes still closed.

_Had he started dreaming again?_

Of Lupin, Snape, Sirius and…_his father_. What a strange thing that had been. All four together in the same room, seemingly co-operating with each other. But that was impossible, one was dead and one hated the others with a passion. His mind went back to Snape's memory, the only thing he had seen of his father as a teenager. It had brought with it uncertainty; doubt of who his father had been, the type of person his father had been. Harry had been bullied before, growing up with Dudley it was impossible not to be and he just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that his father had been one once…_a bully_.

To him, his parents had been the greatest witch and wizard in the world, he'd _idolized_ them, lapped up any information he'd found on them like a starving man. It was almost _disappointing_ then, to think of his parents as _human_.

_We all have clay feet._

He'd heard the saying years before and it had never made sense to him, until that memory. He knew of course that everyone had their faults, that no one was perfect. So it was really just him seeing what he wanted to see? Something in the back of his mind told him that it was a lesson he should never forget.

Merlin, but his mother and father…

_His father. _

The thought seemed to click with something in his mind and his eyes snapped open, the world blurred around him and he immediately started groping around. Eventually, after a few seconds of frantic search, he managed to find the bedside table and his glasses. Ramming them on his face, he looked around quickly.

He wasn't in his bed in Gryffindor Tower and he was still wearing his uniform. He lay on a large, double bed in a room that had been painted a warm cream colour. The bedspread he lay under was a rich blue, as were the shades of the two lamps on tables either side of the bed and the curtains. A rocking chair in the corner supported an embroidered cushion and there was wooden chest of drawers beside that. Three wizarding paintings were scattered over the walls in the room; one depicted two children playing in a forest, Harry could see them running about and smiling. The second showed what could only be Hogwarts, the castle as seen from the Black Lake when a First Year crossed it. It rose high and majestically above half a dozen small boats, all equipped with lanterns and packed with children. The lights twinkled in the night sky and every now and then an owl or two shot across the scene and the Giant Squid would surface, waving it's tentacles at him.

The final painting was a portrait facing the window; an older woman sat in it, her grey hair held back in a neat bun and her lined, handsome face lax with sleep as she leaned across her frame, snoring softly. She wore a proper, high coloured blue dress with a large, jagged piece of onyx hanging low on her chest by a silver chain.

Harry dragged his eyes away from her, not bothering to even wonder who she might have been before the memory of what had happened came crashing down on him. He felt like he was about to hyperventilate.

_Merlin_, he thought to himself shakily, _but was last night real?_

He could, he supposed, still be being held prisoner by Death Eaters, but the notion seemed a little ridiculous now. Death Eaters certainly did not put their prisoners in comfortable beds after they fainted and most likely, because of exactly who he was, Harry would have been dead by now if it had had anything to do with Voldemort. Also, and this irked and excited him to no end, he was certain that no one could fake someone's animagus form to that detail and Prongs had definitely looked like _Prongs_.

So this left three options to him; one was that he could very well be dreaming, trapped in some complicated weaving of his own mind, another was that he could have finally gone insane. This would prove everyone right though, including the Ministry and that toad Umbridge and Harry, being the rebellious sort that he was, refused to give them credit in anything and so refused to question his sanity point blank.

Which of course left the third option.

_This was real. _

He was in another world. Confronted with a very real James Potter and presumably stuck until he could find a way home. He shook his head at the thought, laughing to himself bitterly, why was he starting to think the most ludicrous explanation was the right one?

_Cause you don't want to admit you might be mad_, a snide voice said in the back of his mind and Harry squashed it away angrily.

"Have to find Dumbledore," he muttered to himself, "Have to get back."

"Oh, you're up I see!"

Harry gave a start, looking around frantically until he found the source of the voice, it was the old woman in the blue dress and she was looking at him now with amused brown eyes, a small smile on her face.

"Good morning, young man," she had a rather deep voice, but it was rich and warm too, "I do hope you slept alright, I must admit I didn't even see you come in."

"I-I uh," he licked his lips nervously, facing the woman now, "Yes ma'am, I did, thank you."

He wasn't sure how else to respond and from past experience, he knew how testy a portrait could get, so best to remain polite he reasoned.

"May I ask your name dear?" she asked in her rich voice, it rolled over him like a good smell and he nodded.

"Harry," he responded quickly, "My name is Harry."

The woman suddenly looked sad, her entire expression seeming to droop. With her wrinkles, it wasn't a very attractive sight and Harry thought she was one of those people who only looked good when they were smiling.

"Oh, you have the same name as my great, great grandson," she sighed forlornly, "He passed away some years ago, but oh what a sweet little thing he was. I remember when he first started talking, had such trouble saying my name! And he looked so much like dear Jamie! But you could tell, even from that age that his disposition was going to be like his mother's. Such a dear…"

She carried on singing _her_ Harry's praises for a while and the Harry sitting on the bed listened in wonder and horror. So, he really was _dead _in this world. Well, if he was in another world - _which he didn't have concrete proof of! _- but if he was in another world and this had been his other self's great, great grandmother, then maybe she was his too?

Something in Harry's chest felt warm and jittery at the thought.

"I say, boy," he was snapped from his thoughts by the woman, "Did you hear me?"

"Uh," he gave her an apologetic look, "Sorry, ma'am."

"I just commented how much you look like Jamie too," she paused and then added excitedly, "I say, are you a Potter too by any chance?"

Harry could only nod, but this seemed enough to make the woman happy.

"How splendid!" she exclaimed, beaming at Harry, "I didn't know I had anymore relations, but oh, I haven't introduced myself have I? How rude of me! I am Mrs. Potter, Persephone Potter, wife of John Potter. But really, you must call me Granny Potter, I do insist!"

Harry just nodded, fighting the amused smile threatening to tug his lips upwards at the woman's manner of speaking. He wasn't entirely sure what to make out of the whole situation himself. He'd never called anyone 'Granny' before and the thought of doing so made him a little uncomfortable. But he didn't want to offend the woman and she was being nice to him…

He got out of bed and drew the curtains, they were light enough to just dim the morning light as opposed to blocking it out, but he still wanted to see where he was. The window turned out to look out over a small garden, rose bushes lined one side and lavender another, it was pretty, if maybe a little over grown. Harry suspected it had been a few weeks since anyone had bothered to mow the lawn or trim the bushes. He sighed and settled back on the bed, wondering if he should leave the room and try to find out more of where he was.

"Uh, Granny Potter," he said carefully, looking at the portrait again, the woman was fiddling with the cut onyx pendant around her neck, "Where am I?"

He already knew, but he wanted to make certain.

She looked startled by the question.

"Why," she said, "You're in Godric's Hollow of course! It's a sweet little cottage, I suppose. It's been in my husband's family for a long time now, but no one lived here for many years. My grandson, Jamie's father you know, he restored it when he was a young man, passed it on to Jamie and his dear wife. Lily did such wonders with the decorating, I think, she did always have a sensible head on her shoulders."

Harry thought he could detect a sad note in the woman's voice, but brushed away the thought. The mention of his mother had made him excited and terrified all at once, he wondered where she was, why she hadn't been down there last night. He brushed that away too, he was just going to worry himself to nothing if he carried on like this. Where was his Gryffindor bravado? He could leave a room, surely.

Hesitantly, _forcing_ himself to do so really, he made his way to the plain, wooden door that closed him off from the rest of the house. Godric's Hollow was it? The place where he had lived with his parents as a baby, he had never been here before, though he had always wanted to. He knew his parents were buried in this village and it had always been his intention to visit their graves, but life had never seemed to allow him the opportunity. When he got back - _if he got back _- he'd make a point of doing it. It was all very well and good seeing a living James, and possibly a Lily Potter here, but that didn't do anything to erase the fact that the two people who had loved him enough to give up their lives lay in the cold, hard ground.

He felt the familiar burden of guilt and swallowed hard both to ignore it and make himself turn the knob of the door. The image of the graveyard the previous night was still fresh in his mind. He winced when the door creaked open and took a cautious look about.

He was in a passage way, surprisingly long for a small cottage, but then he supposed that was just magic. There were several other doors, all closed shut and another window over looking what he thought might be more of the garden. On the opposite end he could see the stairs that lead down. The passageway was also painted in the warm, creamy colour of the room he had been staying in and filled with more pictures, some photographs, some sleeping portraits and one or two were more landscape pieces. His eyes trailed immediately to a trio of photographs on the wall opposite him and he gave a start.

The pictures were positioned in a vertical row each about the same size and all with a deep, burgundy frame. The top showed a very pregnant Lily Potter, she was dressed in a loose white top with a dark skirt, a flower tucked behind her left ear. James stood behind her, his arms wrapped protectively about her belly, drawing her close into his embrace. Roses bloomed behind them.

The middle had been taken after Harry was born, it showed the three of them smiling at the camera, every now and then James would kiss Harry's cheek and draw in Lily closer from where his arm was wrapped around her waist. She would then smile more broadly and clasp baby Harry's little hand, making him wave at the camera.

These two photos were not what had surprised Harry though; he knew them. They were the exact same ones he had seen in the album Hagrid had given him back in First Year. No, what had really made him jump was the last and bottom photograph.

This one, like the others, was another family portrait as it were, but it was one that could not possibly exist in his world. The Harry in this photograph was at least five or six and looked a great deal more filled out and healthier than Harry had at the same age. He stood between his two parents, holding a hand each and was being swung between them, autumn leaves fell about and the little family was laughing.

Then he remembered the grave and suddenly, James' reaction to him the previous night made sense, the man must have been feeling just what Harry felt about the situation. He felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, even more unsure now then he had been.

_Merlin, he had to get home. _

Taking a shuddering breath, he made his way along the carpeted passageway to the stairs and put a hand slowly on the rail. He wondered, momentarily, if he would find someone downstairs, or if they were sleeping, just a few paces away from where he now stood. The thought made him descend the stairs all the more quickly, his sock covered feet padding softly. It was then that he noticed he wore no shoes, he hadn't even realised! He remembered vaguely seeing them at the side of the bed, but he hadn't even thought about it. All he could think of at that moment was of his situation, not what was on his feet. He had slept in his school uniform as well, though his tie was gone, he noticed, as were his outer robes, leaving him in only his trousers and shirt. He mused whether James had actually been the one to remove the restricting garments or whether Sirius or Lupin had done it.

It didn't matter, of course.

He came off the last step and was standing in the same living room he had landed in last night. Back then he hadn't really taken much into account, not with the people he was surrounded with in the room, but now he looked around in fascination.

He always did find wizards' homes _fascinating._

This one was a lot simpler than the Weasleys, but there was still plenty of evidence to it being anything but ordinary. He could see more moving photographs and pictures, both hanging on the wall and being displayed on side tables and in big, oak cabinets. The lounge area was decorated in creams, deep burgundies and warm browns, making the whole area appear rather cosy. Strange apparatus not dissimilar to the kinds he had seen before in Dumbledore's office were also scattered about, particularly in the cabinets.

He caught a gleam of gold in the corner of his eye once or twice and was hardly surprised to see a Snitch zooming about the room. Shelves of books covered the back walls, a couple of which appeared to be completely dedicated to albums and there was an old record player in one of the corners. Harry also noticed a long, shrouded mirror, with mysterious shapes moving about in it.

_A Foe Glass_ , he thought wryly.

He could even see a Sneak-O Scope in one of the cabinets now he looked about and a few other items he had read about that were used by Aurors for catching dark wizards. He wondered why his parents had those.

Come to think of it, what had his parents professions been, besides working for the Order of course?

Had they even had the chance to _have_ professions?

He sat down on one of the rather comfortable looking couches, sinking deep into soft leather. The whole house smelt good to him, like what a home should smell like. Not the scent of air fresheners and cleaners, like the Dursley's living room did most of the time, but he thought he could smell parchment, the faint scent of roses and herbal soap. It reminded him of being in the Gryffindor Common Room or even with the Weasleys. He felt strange about that, he'd never been here before in his life and yet it felt…right. This place should have been his home, if things were different, and he hadn't had anywhere to attach that name to before, save Hogwarts.

He spent a long time simply looking around at all the photographs, he laughed a little when he recognised ones of his father and the Marauders as teenagers. In most cases they had the most mischievous and falsely innocent looks on their faces. He ignored the ones that featured Wormtail in the pictures and focused solely on the faces of his father and best friends.

He stopped looking though when he heard the steady thump of someone coming downstairs and turned, his eyes wide as dark haired James Potter finally came into view. The two froze, looking at each other wide eyed. Harry found it was suddenly very difficult to speak and berated himself for it internally.

_He's not your father_! He scolded himself harshly, _stop acting like a fool and handle the situation. _

But the words still evaded him and he felt like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His eyes immediately went to the photograph he had been looking at, one of James and Sirius on a big, black motorcycle, each wearing a shirt with a blazon phoenix on the front.

_Matching t-shirts? Really?_

They both looked to be in their late teens and were grinning at one another triumphantly. The inscription, "_James and Sirius patrolling, 1978_" had been scrawled underneath it in a flourish and under that in scruffier handwriting that Harry recognised as Sirius' where the words, "_Remember Elvendork_. _It's Unisex_!"

"What's Elvendork?" he blurted out without really meaning too.

He was more than a little surprised when James Potter burst into laughter.

**HPHPHP**

**A/N: On Lily; to be honest, I'm not 100% if Lily would actually make it that long in Azkaban without going insane or just wasting away completely. This is why I've tried very hard not to parallel her with Sirius too much. Putting her in minimum security (if such a thing could exist there) was a way to soften the impact Azkaban may have had on her, if even just a little bit. But of course, I still had to show something of her own resolve and **_**that**_** I have drawn from Sirius. I'm just going to admit right now that the scenes I am most nervous about writing are those from Lily's POV, so most are going to be quite short. I beg your patience whilst I get a grip on her character in this, I'm slowly getting there. **

**Anyway, next chapters got a few lighter, fluffier bits in.**

**~Southern Hearts~**


	5. Common Ground

"_It__'__s often just enough to be with someone. I don__'__t need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You__'__re not alone_."

- Marilyn Monroe.

Chapter Five

Common Ground

James Potter had not slept all that well, he had been haunted by dreams of his family before it had all been taken away from him. He could see the dead, green eyes of his five year old son and then the terrified, heart wrenching ones of his wife. They had pursued him all night, not granting him reprieve from a fitful sleep. As a result he had slept later than he intended to and rushed to get dressed before Harry could wake up.

The events of the previous night pressed down on his mind like an angry Hippogriff and he knew he was not likely to ever forget it. Not the shocked, fear filled eyes of the boy and not the heart breaking pain that came with seeing it.

He slept in the master bedroom of the house, the room that had been his and Lily's, though he never dared venture over to her side of the bed, even in sleep. Sometimes, when he was trapped in the half waking world he would turn over and imagine her lying there, smiling up at him lazily from her pillows. The queen sized bed they had shared together was spacious and sometimes felt all too big for just him. He wished she were there beside him.

The room had been decorated by Lily herself and had been done in soft, golden yellows, creamy whites and powder blues. Her jewellery and make up still remained wholly untouched on the cherry wood dressing room table and pictures of their family as it had been lay scattered on top of the dresser. There was also a large chest at the end of the bed, covered over with a blue throw that contained various odds and ends. The only other furniture was a set of two small, padded yellow chairs and a table in one corner of the large room, an antique tea set lay atop it.

James made the bed and doused his face with cold water before leaving the room, he noticed that all the portraits were still asleep and realised that it couldn't be as late as he had thought. Sunlight streamed in from the back window in the passageway, though it still hadn't risen enough to rouse the portraits who slept there. James quietly passed his great, great uncle Andrew and his many times great grandfather Matthias before stopping in front of the guest room door. Slowly, he opened it and was surprised to find that it was empty. He felt blind panic wash over him, fear that the boy had left Godric's Hollow, until he saw a pair of black, leather school shoes on the ground.

_He can't have left the house without his shoes_, he decided immediately and turned to head downstairs.

It was a ludicrous thought, he could very well have left the house without his shoes, especially if he had been in a panic, but James held onto the thought as he made his way down the stairs, both hoping and dreading he would find the boy there.

And find him he did. Their eyes met and James found himself scrambling for something, _anything_ to say, but his tongue suddenly felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He noticed Harry turn red and then look away, at a photograph and then back at him. He had to say something, anything to break this silence, 'good morning' would do or even a 'sorry for tearing you out of your world' might work, but everything seemed stilled.

Harry opened his mouth and James expected accusation, harsh blame, but it did not come.

"What's Elvendork?"

Something seemed to snap in James. Of all the questions, of all the things to ask. Why would he…? He couldn't help it when the relief of seeing the boy still in the house and the absurdity of the situation hit him.

He started laughing.

That was when he noticed Harry staring at him, confusion evident in his face. James coughed, trying to calm himself.

"Sirius tells the story better than me," he said with a grin, "Needless to say it's a bit of… let's just say _mischief_ we got up to after leaving Hogwarts."

"Oh," said Harry, still looking unsure, "You pulled pranks when you were at school, right?"

James nodded, taking this as some kind of common ground between them. At least he knew about the Marauders, though growing up with James, Sirius and Remus, the boy was likely to have been exposed to any number of misdeeds.

"Do you…like pranks?" he asked lamely.

Harry hesitated and then nodded.

"Most of the time," he said, his voice sounded like he was trying to be careful, "My best friend's brothers, they're real pranksters. Make and sell their own products. They're the ones who gave me-"

The boy's mouth immediately snapped shut and he looked nervous, his eyes darting around anywhere but to look at James. He wondered if Harry was having as hard a time trying to come up with something to say as he was, he knew from last night's reaction that he was dead in this Harry's world and after last night, the boy knew he was dead in this world too. It made everything _twice_ as awkward.

He wondered who Harry's best friend was, he was surprised that he wanted to know; wanted to know who all of Harry's friends were, what his hobbies were and what he liked doing. But the words still wouldn't come out. He opened his mouth to try again when he noticed Harry's arm suddenly snap out and catch the Snitch he had permanently _borrowed_ from Hogwarts. He charmed it to never leave the living room and let it fly about, a reminder of good days at Hogwarts. Sometimes, when he was bored, he'd make a game of catching it and fooling around with the thing for a while.

The way Harry had taken the Snitch from the air seemed like a reflex and he almost smiled, finally realising he had found something to talk about.

"Play Quidditch?" he asked.

Harry, who had been examining the Snitch, suddenly let it go, allowing it to fly off into the air and blinked at him in surprise before nodded.

"Yeah," he answered softly, not offering up anymore information.

"I was a Chaser," James pressed on, "But I did play a half descent Seeker when I had to, how about you?"

"Seeker," Harry said and he seemed to relax a little.

From there, they spoke briefly on various moves and plays in Quidditch, which teams they liked, who they thought was up for the next World Cup, even if some of the games had gone a little differently in the two worlds. Before James knew it, he was seated across from Harry at the kitchen table, still talking about Quidditch. They talked about the captains they had had, a few of the games they had played. James was surprised to learn Harry had only ever lost one match, though he didn't say how, and had still managed to win the team the House Cup that year.

"What house are you in?" James asked curiously, pouring the boy some coffee and handing him a piece of toast. He already knew the answer from the boy's uniform, but he wanted to hear it from Harry.

"Gryffindor," Harry said, without hesitation, seemingly feeling at ease so long as the topics remained safe. James felt the same way, it was best to keep this all as superficial as possible, he supposed. Just small talk. They were avoiding the bigger issues, him getting back to his own world and the like on purpose, both content to pretend for a while that nothing had happened.

James noticed Harry would look around as though searching for something every now and then, his eyes straining to the big clock on the kitchen wall. But the look would pass quickly and James ignored it.

"_Where dwell the brave of heart_," he quoted proudly, "It was my old house too."

Harry knew that of course, James could see that in his eyes, but he didn't say anything.

"How did I get here?" Harry blurted out so suddenly and so unexpectedly that James thought he might fall out of his chair. He looked at the teen and strongly resisted the urge to sigh, he was doing far too much of it lately and wanted to stop.

"That's my fault," he admitted, his voice quiet and serious, "It's difficult to explain exactly why we did what we did without telling you the whole story, which I think it would be better to wait for Remus and Sirius for. Basically though, we were trying out a summoning spell and I botched it up. I'm sorry Harry."

Harry didn't say anything, he looked down at his coffee, his expression was unreadable.

"Can you send me back?" he asked next.

James answered honestly.

"I hope so."

The silence was painful, it drew out and lingered over them, unspoken thoughts, accusations, words, drifting away in it. James took a sip of his coffee, it was too hot and he had to bite back a yelp when it burned his tongue, but he ignored it and took another sip. The pain of that seemed more bearable at the moment than seeing his living son in front of him. He knew his feelings were selfish and strange. He wanted to know the boy and yet, at the same time he wanted to cast him away and pretend he had never existed. The internal battle was only won out in the end by looking into Harry's forlorn green eyes and imagining them as Lily's.

He decided that the best way to deal with this might be to treat Harry like the son of a friend or maybe just an acquaintance. Keep his distance, but remain friendly on the out as well. And try to ignore those eyes…

"Where's Lily?"

James' eyes snapped wide at the question and he suddenly realised why exactly Harry had been looking around. He had been expecting Lily to come downstairs.

James' heart panged. The Lily in the other world must be worried sick about Harry, especially if James was dead and now her son had disappeared. He felt guilty all over again. The last thing he ever wanted to do was worry Lily, whatever version she was.

"She's not home right now," was all he found he could say, his thoughts sailing between his wife and her counterpart.

Harry just nodded, looking oddly relieved and also somewhat…disappointed.

Before James could puzzle out this reaction there was a loud crack outside the front door, followed by a knock.

"Come in Sirius!" James yelled out, and listened as the door creaked open and his friend stepped in. A few seconds passed and the shaggy haired man stood in the door way, a wide grin plastered to his face.

"Morning Prongs!" he said jovially, then beamed at Harry, "Morning Prongslet!"

James was relieved to see the boy actually smile, a small hesitant grin, no doubt brought on by both Sirius' antics and familiarity with the man. He was even more relieved, however, that Sirius had appeared.

"Morning," Harry said softly.

Sirius regarded the two for a second and then rose an eyebrow.

"Merlin, but you two look even more alike in the daylight," he took a seat at the table, "Are you sure you didn't just clone yourself Jamie? Cause I swear, if it weren't for the eyes, I'd have a tough time believing it wasn't you!"

James noticed how Sirius deliberately left out any mention of the scar on Harry's forehead and was grateful, though he was anything but at the clear indication his friend was making about their relation to one another.

"He's got Lily's nose and ears," he found himself defending, though he regretted making the observation as soon as the smirk appeared on Sirius' face and Harry's green eyes snapped up to look at him in surprise. He swallowed hard and took another sip of his hot coffee, trying not to flush at being caught out.

"Yeah, you're right," Sirius continued, completely nonchalant, "Come to think of it, Lil's features sure do soften out that ugly mug nicely. Bet you're a hit with the ladies, huh kid?"

The '_kid's_' pale face went red and he shook his head forcefully, looking completely terrified at the accusation. James almost smiled; Harry was embarrassed.

"No!" he protested, "Believe me Sirius, I'm not!"

"Oh? But you're thinking of someone, aren't you?" Sirius continued to tease, laughing as Harry steadily turned redder.

"No," he said all too quickly and seemed to realise this from James and Sirius' expressions because he started to defend himself, "Well, there was-I mean, it was just one date but-but it didn't really work out and-and… _Why the hell am I telling you this?!"_

Sirius barked with laughter and this time even James couldn't help but smile; trapped in an alternate dimension with a deceased parent and he was still acting like a shy teenager.

"Red head, right?" the dog animagus pushed forward and explained at Harry's confused look, "All Potters go for red heads. I think it's in the genes or something."

This time it was James' turn to blush.

"Sirius!" he protested, "That's not true!"

"Your wife, your mother, your grandmother," Sirius smirked, "Need I say more? So Harry, how about it? She a red head?"

Harry started to open his mouth and then stopped, his eyes widening and his flushed face steadily going darker and darker by the minute. He then shook his head fervently.

"No red heads!" he said firmly, though his tone bellied his words a little.

Sirius continued to smile knowingly.

"As you say Harry," he said, though he clearly didn't believe him. James wasn't so sure now either and felt a mixture of good hearted pity and amusement for Harry. It was always difficult to undergo one of Padfoot's interrogations about girls. Remus was the usual victim and had developed an immunity to it, though he still blushed a little. Shy people though, what more could James say? He was happy though to see the small touch of innocence it presented in Harry and his heart seemed to tug as he thought of his own little boy.

"What time is Remus getting here?" James asked slowly, schooling his features once more.

"Around now," Sirius said, tearing his gaze from Harry, "You explained anything yet?"

James shook his head.

"I thought it would be better if Remus was here first," he said, turning his attention to Harry, who seemed to have recovered, "I've got some old clothes that should fit you, if you want? Also, I put some extra toiletries in the guest bathroom for you. I'm sure you'd like to freshen up a little, it's been a long night."

Harry looked surprised and then nodded.

James nodded and pulled his wand out, giving it a casual flick, nothing happened.

"They're in the guest room," he said, "Tell me if you need anything resized."

Harry nodded, glancing from Sirius to James before rising from the table with a soft, 'excuse me, then,' and departing the kitchen quickly.

"Keep thinking of that red head Harry," Sirius called over his shoulder at the retreating boy, they heard Harry stumble on the stairs and then there was the indignant cry of:

"_There is no red head!"_

Sirius threw back his head and laughed before looking at his friend.

"Being a little cold there, weren't you?" he accused softly, "You two seemed to be doing okay when I walked in. You learn anything about him?"

"He's in Gryffindor and he plays Seeker on the team," James recited dully, then took a gulp of coffee, "I forgot…"

"I like him better already," Sirius grinned, then frowned, "Forgot what?"

"What it's like to talk to a kid," James shook his head, "What its like to talk to your _own_ kid I mean. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be, he's not mine, but he reminds me…"

"Of what it was like?"

James smiled softly and nodded.

"And of what it could have been."

**HPHPHP**

Red faced, Harry bounded up the stairs two at a time. He couldn't help but wonder if his Sirius would be this playful about him dating, this carefree about life in general if-if…

_If he hadn't been in Azkaban for twelve years. _

Harry wanted to cry. He hadn't realised just how much Azkaban had changed Sirius Black, the man in the kitchen downstairs was far more similar to the laughing man in his parent's wedding photograph than his Sirius ever could be again. He also now knew why Lupin was always so sad looking around Sirius, why there was that sympathetic tilt in his eyes whenever he thought no one was really looking. It was because Lupin had known the man downstairs, in a way.

_Stupid Voldemort. Stupid war. Stupid Wormtail._

And it had all happened because of him! He was dead in this world and his parents were alive…_his parents were alive!_ What had gone differently? Why did Halloween night change and how had he died in this world exactly? He remembered the photograph of the small boy being swung by his parents and-

"_Keep thinking of that red head Harry!"_

Poor Harry nearly fell down the stairs, he turned on his heel and yelled despite himself.

"There is no red head!"

Why? Why when Sirius mentioned red heads had his thoughts immediately flashed to _Ginny Weasley_? It was bad enough being reminded of his failed date with Cho Chang, but why in Merlin's name had he thought of Ginny?

Ginny Weasley. Ron's baby sister and in other words…completely off limits! There was no way they'd even be able to…

He cringed.

He had not just considered it, had he? Sure, Ginny was kind of pretty and easy to talk to and bloody good at Quidditch, but that didn't mean he_ liked_ her. Its not what it meant! It absolutely is not what it meant! Ron would kill him if he even thought about it. And then their friendship would be over _and-_

He groaned. Why was he even thinking of these things? It wasn't like he could do anything about it until he got back home anyway. He had bigger things to worry about, like actually _getting _home. Weird things had happened to him before, but this was by far the strangest of anything he could remember. And thinking about _girls_ was not going to get him back!

_Still_, he thought ruefully as he entered the guest room again, _I must have given Ginny a right scare, disappearing like that. I'm sorry Ginny. _

He noticed a neat pile of clothes had been laid out on the bed, all of which were thankfully muggle looking, if a little out of date. He immediately bypassed the bell bottom black pants, almost snickering at the thought of James in them and selected a descant looking pair of brown corduroys. They looked a little long for him, but would have to do. It wasn't his fault if James had been taller than him in his youth and a spell would sort out the length in a second. He also found a green chequered shirt and a black under shirt. The choices were considerably better than wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs. He asked Granny Potter where the bathroom was and found fresh towels, a new toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo and face wash waiting for him. It was all a wizarding brand he had never used before, but supposed it would do the trick. He had a quick shower and got dressed, thankful to wash away the tiredness of the day before. By the time he came downstairs, maybe half an hour later, the Marauders were all waiting for him in the living room again, Remus had arrived at some point

"Good morning Harry," the werewolf smiled gently, "I hope you slept well?"

Harry, unsure how to react, nodded politely. He hadn't dreamt anything last night at least, so he supposed it was a good night.

He looked around the room, surely they would have called Dumbledore over this? The man may have been ignoring him in his own universe, but here he was still the best shot they had. Maybe he should insist they contact him or-

"Something wrong Harry?" Remus asked.

"Shouldn't we call Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, "He usually seems to know a lot of - _why are you looking at me like that_?"

The three men were staring at him in pure and unhidden amazement. For a second, Harry wondered if he'd managed to grow an extra head, Merlin knew their reactions said as much.

"You've met Dumbledore?" Sirius asked carefully.

"Of course," Harry was beyond confused, "He's the headmaster of Hogwarts after all. What? Why are you all-?"

"We're just surprised," Remus smoothed over immediately, "You see, in this world, Albus Dumbledore died when you would have been around two and a half."

Harry blinked.

That was…_unexpected_.

"H-how?" he nearly chocked.

"Official story is old age," Sirius said, crossing his arms and shaking his head, "Old age my foot! If that man died of old age, I'll eat my hat. _Nah_, reckon he was murdered and they fed the public some cover up bullshit."

"M-murdered?" Harry found it hard to breath, the one shred of hope he'd had, the secure faith he'd held, was that if anyone could get him home, it was _Albus Dumbledore_. And now, instead, he had to rely on the Marauders.

_Brilliant. _

"I think you just went three shades paler," SIrius commented, "If that's possible."

"Were-er-_are_ you and Dumbledore close, Harry?" it was the first time James had spoken and his soft voice breaking through made Harry swallow hard.

"I guess," he said weakly, "Sometimes I wonder but-but _dead_? I just cant believe it."

He sat down abruptly. What was he supposed to do if there was no Albus Dumbledore? He knew how to rely on himself without the man, but there had always been that option to go see him. Except for this last year. Why wouldn't he look at him?

Shaking away the thought he concentrated on the situation at hand once more.

"Sorry, that was just…its kind of surreal I suppose," Harry admitted sheepishly, "I know that the Dumbledore _I know _is alive, but to think of him as dead too is just…_strange_. Maybe you should explain exactly how I got here?"

**HPHPHP**

**A/N: I should probably warn you that the next few chapters are going to be mainly about establishing the shape of the AU world. And yes, Dumbledore is dead in this world. With the direction I want this story to go, he'd be too much of a crutch. Not just to the characters, but to my writing of the story as well. It's just too easy to say he has all the answers, **_**because **_**he usually does. **

**Secondly, the general criticism seems to be that I'm writing too much angst (that surprised me, I didn't think I **_**could **_**write angst) and not enough action. Well, I never promised action. But I appreciate I will need to get to that point and possibly rethink the slow pace I originally intended. Also, I believe I lost at least one of you in the last chapter, probably more, and I thank you for pointing that out. If there's one thing I've learned in the past year; any text that leads the reader out of the story, is bad. I will keep that in mind. **

**Thank you all for the reviews, I was really happy to see a good mix of support and criticism, you are all really making this story worth writing. **

**~Southern Hearts~**


	6. It's A Strange World

"_Losing an illusion makes you wiser than finding a truth.__"_

-Ludwig Borne

Chapter Six

It's a Strange World

"_She's what?!" _

James cringed a little at the boy's yell. This was certainly not a situation he thought he'd ever be in. Telling a child that their mother was in Azkaban, imprisoned for their own murder no less. Of course, she wasn't really this Harry's mother and…

_Oh hang it all! _James decided, there wasn't much difference in any case. Harry's reaction was clearly going to be the same, whether or not he actually knew the woman.

He looked at the fuming teen now, amazed at how much Lily came out when he was angry. It was odd, but James supposed he'd gotten his mother's temper after all.

Not necessarily a good thing, Lily had been a walking volcano at age fifteen, ready to burst at anything.

"How - how does that even happen?!" Harry carried on, "Mum would never do that! _She'd never do that_!"

There was a determined vehemence in his voice that startled James to the core; Harry looked ready to hex the next person to say something bad about his mother. This righteous fury was surprising, as though someone had suddenly flipped a switch.

James wondered why Harry was so sensitive about his mother. Had something happened in his own world that had created this - there was no other word for it - over-protectiveness? If just hearing about his mother's _counterpart_ being treated unjustly did this to him, James shuddered to think what the boy would do if he ever found out everything that had happened to Lily during that time.

He felt the stir of magic in the room and bit back a groan, that was all he needed.

"We know that Harry," Remus tried to soothe, exchanging a worried look with James; neither wanted the mess accidental magic would bring, "That's why we were trying the spell. It's a way to summon her past the wards. It's a plan to free her."

Harry looked at him questioningly.

"A summoning spell?" he repeated doubtfully, raising an eyebrow, "You were going to summon her out of _Azkaban_?"

"That was the idea," Sirius entered helpfully.

"And it backfired?" Harry continued, ignoring Sirius, "Brought me here instead?"

Remus nodded. James tilted his head to the side, not liking where this conversation was going.

"Alright," Harry's temper seemed to be deflating a little, _just a little_, "Then please explain to me one thing. How the heck did _I_ end up getting summoned? I'm going to assume you weren't trying to bring his - my - the _other Harry's _grave here."

James _definitely_ didn't like where this conversation went.

"It was James' fault," Sirius said loudly, earning a glare from his best friend.

"Gee, thanks," James growled, turned to look at Harry, "Look, we were experimenting with the spell-"

"To summon Mum out of Azkaban," Harry finished flatly.

"Right," James continued slowly, going on to explain everything that had occurred the night before. As he did, Harry's face went through a barrage of unreadable emotions, finally settling on a thoughtful expression. The room had grown quiet as he told his story, when he was done, Harry asked a few questions of his own. Like where the spell came from and if he could see it. Remus allowed him to, keeping a cautious eye on the parchment.

Harry frowned down at the strange symbols.

"There's a reverse to this though, right?"

All three men cringed a little at the question; this earned them all a poisonous look from Harry.

"Please tell me you did not experiment with a spell like this without knowing how to reverse it?" he groaned.

Guilty looks all around.

"Bloody fantastic," Harry crossed his arms and took a seat, flopping down on the sofa with all the grace of a tossed bean bag, "You're telling me that I'm in another world. One where my mother was imprisoned for _murdering_ me and is currently rotting away in Azkaban. Now, you're trying to break her out and thought you could do it with some obscure summoning spell, that no one has used in centuries! But when you tried to test it, you got _me _instead? And now, to top it all off, _you can't send me back_."

Sirius was the only one to crack a smile of agreement, James flinched guiltily and Remus' face was a mask of concern. Harry just looked at them with a raised eyebrow, clearly not impressed.

"It sounds pretty messed up when you say it like that," Sirius commented, ignoring the pointed looks James and Remus sent him, "To be honest, I'm kind of glad the spell backfired."

Thus, Sirius Black found himself the recipient of three incredulous stares.

"What?" the dark haired man protested, raising his hands in teasing surrender, "He's a mite more interesting than a cow."

James, for his part, was more than confused by his best friend's behaviour. Certainly, Sirius had always seemed to take life with a pinch of salt, but this seemed to be going to the extreme. The man was enjoying himself! And James couldn't begin imagine what he found to be amused about. This was a bad, _bad_ situation. A very complicated and _bad_ situation. He shot his friend a meaningful glare, before turning to placate Harry.

"We are sorry about all this," he said, momentarily forgetting Sirius and his odd behaviour.

For the first time, James truly held Harry's gaze. He'd avoided looking directly into those eyes up until that point, but now he couldn't help it. His heart pained so much right then and he _knew_. He knew he couldn't get through this handling Harry as an acquaintance. He knew he couldn't deconstruct their relationship to that point. Granted, he had no relationship with this Harry, but on some level, he felt like he should.

He should know _something _more about this boy.

But that was a road he wasn't sure he could let himself be led down.

So he looked away, missing the pained look Harry sent him when he did.

Everyone waited for Harry's response, for him to pass judgement. James didn't know what he was expecting, but he almost hoped, if only to justify his own ill feelings, that the boy would explode.

"I-" James took a sharp inhale and held it when Harry finally spoke, "I understand."

_Wait! What-?_

Blinking, James finally looked up, but Harry was looking anywhere but at _him _now.

"Don't get me wrong," the teen continued, "I am bloody angry. There are people in my world I would rather not have worry about me."

All James could now see was the tormented face of Lily and he shuddered guiltily.

"But I get it," Harry continued, "You were just trying to save someone you care about. If it had been me, I'd have probably done the same, regardless of the risks."

James felt something strange at those words; curiosity first, then an unbidden sense of worry and finally, just the smallest twinge of pride. He looked at Harry, but this time the boy was refusing to meet any of the surprised, even pointed looks he and his friends were sending. James detected a weariness though. Harry's shoulders were slumped a little and his face was mix of strain and exhaustion.

"But I need to get back," Harry continued, "I have responsibilities back home. Everyone is going to be worried. Please. There must be _some_ way?"

The pleading in his voice made James' throat catch and he felt all the more guilty. This was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done. It topped every mistake he had ever made in his life. All he could think was that not only had he delayed the process of freeing his wife, but he had now caused another version of her great pain. He licked his lips, unsure of what to say. _How were they going to send him back?_

Luckily, it was Remus who answered, clearly taking the entire situation in stride. James only wished he could do the same.

"We're going to work on it," he said firmly, "If there is a way, we will find it and we will get you home."

Harry looked at the three men sceptically.

Sirius raised his right hand, his face becoming solemn and intoned;

"Marauders' honour," he gestured to James and Remus, "Trust me kiddo, that means we're gonna do it."

Harry did not look too convinced.

_Not at all._

"Look," the boy began, "Professor Lupin-"

"Why do you call him that?" Sirius interjected suddenly.

Harry looked momentarily taken back by the question.

"Call him what?" he asked, confused.

"_Professor Lupin_," Sirius mimicked back.

Harry blinked several times.

"_Uh - _habit?" he shrugged, as though he had never considered the fact before, "He taught me DADA in Third Year, I guess it just stuck."

James didn't miss the surprised, but pleased look that crossed Remus' face and he remembered sadly that it had once been an ambition of his old friend to become a teacher. Being a werewolf had closed that option from him permanently though. He supposed things were different in the other world.

"He's always trying to make me call him Remus though," Harry further admitted, this seeming to snap the present Remus from his reverie.

"Which I hope you will remember to do so now," he said sternly, "I've never been a teacher in this world. It wouldn't do to let it slip out in public."

Both James and Harry were surprised by this, James especially. He hadn't even considered the notion of taking Harry anywhere he could be _near_ the public. He was safer _here_, in Godric's Hollow, after all. He was about to open his mouth to state as much when Harry spoke up.

"What is your job then?"

_That's what the kid zoned in on? Remus' profession? _

Remus gave a small, mysterious smile, but remained silent. It was Sirius who finally gave an irritable grunt and explained.

"He's an Unspeakable."

Harry's eyes widened almost comically.

"They work in the Department of Mysteries, right?" James was curious to see a rather calculating look cross the kid's features, "What _exactly_ does an Unspeakable do anyway?"

He wasn't surprised when Remus shot Harry a warning look. Even James and Sirius knew better than to ask about their friend's work, he couldn't tell them and it was as simple as that. Harry looked like he had confirmed something and gave a defeated sigh.

Sirius, of course, was more than happy to answer the question.

"Plenty of top secret mumbo jumbo that we mere mortals can never be privy to," he grumbled, glaring teasingly at Remus, "Though, he did sneak us a top secret spell, so we can't be _too_ hard on him."

Remus turned red.

"Sirius!" he hissed.

Harry's mouth twisted into a small, satisfied smile.

"I see," he said softly.

James wondered what the heck that was about.

None of them said anything for a time, Harry shifted a little uncomfortably in the silence and Sirius gave a great sigh, but no one broke it. James found himself studying the boy that could have been his son. Gryffindor, Quidditch player, adept with shield spells and clearly protective of his family. That was all he knew about Harry Potter. He tried to look for similarities with the small boy he had known. As though just looking would reveal that. His Harry had been a kind, caring child, he had loved playing with Padfoot and going to the beach. He'd had a pension for getting into trouble in the most unlikely of situations. He wondered how much of that might be similar in this youth. He looked away quickly when Harry caught him staring.

"So what now?" Harry finally said, his voice wane.

"Now?" Remus spoke up thoughtfully, "Well, you're going to need more clothes in the mean time, I doubt James has anything muggle beyond circa nineteen-eighty. I say we take you shopping."

For a second, James didn't think he'd heard right.

Shopping? Now? Take Harry _shopping_? Take his _dead _son's counterpart shopping? No way! He should be kept in the house until they could send him back, kept safe and sound, far away from the rest of the wizarding world. Was Remus _insane_?

"We can't take him outside!" James blurted out, "What if someone sees him?"

He ignored the odd look Harry sent him.

"Then it's a good thing I've been designing an alias for Harry, isn't it?" Remus smirked at James' flabbergasted face, "Granted, it won't be ready for a couple more days, but the paperwork is pretty much through. We just need to glamour him and-"

James buried his face in his hands.

"Let me guess," he remarked dryly, "You _can't_ tell me how you swung that in _one _night."

"You learn fast," Remus practically sung, looking amused.

James honestly didn't know how to react, a voice in his head kept screaming that the entire thing was a bad idea, but Sirius and Remus were looking at him expectantly.

"What if someone recognises him?" he stressed, "He's safer here!"

"_He_," Harry interrupted irritably, "Can take care of _himself_."

They all looked at him. James felt his cheeks heat a bit. Harry was looking more than irritated now, James hadn't even realised they had started talking about him like he wasn't in the room. Sirius gave a chuckle and Remus had a wry smile on his face. James noticed both of his best friends were acting…well they just weren't acting like he thought they would have. In fact, Remus was acting even more mysterious than usual, sharing conspiratorial looks with Sirius when he thought James wasn't looking.

James didn't like it, he didn't like it one bit.

He wasn't going to back down on this though.

"It's a bad idea," he said stubbornly, "You're not familiar with our world Harry and you don't exist here. You should just stay low until we can figure this all out."

"You want me to hide," Harry accused hotly, "You don't have the right to tell me what to do! _You're not my father_."

The last words were said softly, so much so that he thought at first that he had mistaken them, but the frustration on Harry's face said otherwise. Those words stung more than James thought they would, but he brushed it aside, buried it away like he did most things now a days. He didn't notice, once again, the regretful, pained look that crossed Harry's face.

"I'm not _trying_ to!" he protested, "Don't over react."

"I'm not over reacting!" Harry snapped back angrily.

"Hey!" Sirius barked, interrupting the two. James realised that both he and Harry were standing up, glaring at each other. He didn't understand how that had happened. Sure, he now knew Harry had a temper, but he hadn't expected this reaction. It was like the kid was on automatic self defence or something.

"Both of you _calm down_," Sirius' voice was stern for once, "This won't get us anywhere. James, we don't know how long Harry is going to be with us, so an alias is the best way to explain his presence _if_ he is accidentally discovered. And Harry, we're just trying to protect you, there's no need to treat us like the bad guys here."

Harry didn't say anything, but he sat back down again, looking everywhere but at James.

Remus coughed.

"Well then," he said lightly, looking at Harry, "How do you feel about being a blonde South African?"

At the look on Harry's face, even James had trouble holding back a laugh.

**HPHPHP**

_Blonde? Why blonde?_

Harry was seriously doubting Lupin's sanity.

He couldn't help the amused smile that sprung to his lips though, Remus Lupin wanting to buy new clothes? What was the world coming to? Come to think of it though, he had mused, when regarding the man, this Lupin didn't wear tattered, old clothing. He also seemed less tired, his sandy hair was still greying but there was a liveliness in his manner which Harry hadn't seen there before. His eyes had skimmed over Sirius and James. Sirius who lacked the haunted, unhealthy look left from his years in Azkaban and James, who perhaps had more worry lines on his face than should be there, but still looked an older, if harder, version of the pictures he had of the man.

Harry hadn't quite realised just how much of an impact his father's death and Sirius' false imprisonment had had on his old teacher.

He had tested the waters with Lupin. When he heard his old professor was an Unspeakable in this world, a strange hope had filled him. That Door was in the DOM and he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, if Lupin was willing to share a top secret spell to help his friends, then he might be convinced to help Harry. It was a long shot, but Harry knew he would have to take the risk. He could finally figure out what the weapon was that Voldemort was trying to steal.

_You don't exist here._

Those words had been haunting him all week. It had been nearly four days since his arrival in this world and James' words, though not meant to be harsh, still pained him. He had berated himself for acting like he did, but James had started to remind him of all the adults this past year who had been trying to 'protect' him. The ones who had been lying to him and keeping things from him. So he had lashed out, and at the wrong person.

Harry was so tired of being angry, so tired of all the frustration and the confusion. He couldn't let what little control he had over his life be taken away though, it would be too much. Umbridge had been trying to do that to him all year and the Order members didn't seem to even want his help. Looking back on it, Harry knew he had taken what James said out of context, but a part of him wanted to be angry with the man that could have been his father. It was a selfish, awfully vindictive part, but he didn't care.

_You're not my father. _

He winced a little. Maybe he shouldn't have _said_ that. The expression on James' face had been surprisingly hurt. True, he had managed to get along somewhat with his father during breakfast that morning, but that didn't stop his anger from bursting through. He wasn't sure how to describe it, but he didn't think James could do anything right with him at the moment.

Seeing his father was like holding a plate of food in front of a starving man and never letting him taste a crumb. The deep longing was far too much for Harry and he wanted nothing more than to get back to his world as soon as possible. This man, for all he was, was not his father. He was a James Potter that had never given up his life for his son, but had lost so much instead. His son was dead and his wife imprisoned, the last thing he needed was for Harry to be there. He could see it in the man's eyes. Harry was just another complication.

Life since that day had been strange and Harry had mainly kept to his room, conversing with Granny Potter. She had stories about his family history that Harry was more than willing to lap up. Like when a spell of his great grandfather's had backfired, turning the man's skin a bright, sky blue for three weeks straight, or the time when great, great, great uncle Alfred got lost using one of the Floo networks and ended up crashing right into King George III's bedroom. The poor royal never quite got over the shock apparently.

Harry was oddly pleased to hear he wasn't the only one who had trouble with Floo.

The times he did venture out of the room usually involved him sharing a rather strained meal with James. Thankfully, for the most part, Sirius and Lupin were usually present.

He found he kept sneaking glances at the man who, in this world, was his father. He had often tried to imagine what James Potter would have been like, had he lived. The photographs he had were of a young man, in his late teens to early twenties, not much older than Harry.

And as Harry got older, he had looked at those photographs and slowly saw himself becoming closer and closer to that image. But he had also realised that, if his luck kept up that is, he would grow old where his father would remain young forever. He had never expected to see his father as a thirty-six year old man.

Yet here he was, he hadn't changed a great deal, not really. Harry had known him the moment he saw him. His dark hair was just as messy as Harry's, he wore glasses and was even taller than Harry had thought he would be. His eyes were the same warm hazel he had known from the Mirror of Erised and his face, though older, had the same features.

Harry hated to admit it, but he probably looked more like a dad of a fifteen year old boy was meant to look like, as opposed to the mischievous, far too young, James Potter he knew through photographs.

All through the past few days, Harry had been trying to scrutinized the man, trying to find something, _anything_, to separate him from his father. Besides the age difference of course.

He was sterner than Harry had expected, weary too. He thought he could see just the beginnings of grey at his temples.

_Well_, he thought to himself wryly, _at least I know I__'__m probably going grey premature_.

The thing about James Potter that bugged Harry the most was, of course, that _he wouldn__'__t look at him. _

For three days it had been like that and it made him angrier than he thought he would be. After a year of Dumbledore doing the exact same thing, he supposed he ought to be used to it. He also didn't know the man, he didn't expect anything from him. He wasn't really his father or anything.

_But it still hurt. _

And that was what irritated Harry the most. The very idea of feeling like this man's opinion should matter to him turned his stomach. So what if he was James Potter? So what if he was the closest Harry was ever going get to finding out what his father might have been like? It wasn't like it mattered.

_It didn__'__t matter at all! _

With that thought in mind, Harry would look away.

He often found his thoughts roving involuntarily to Lily Potter. She was a person Harry had certainly never expected to meet and a part of him desperately wanted to. But another part, a much louder, more fearful part, hoped that he would be back in his own world before he got the chance. He tried to imagine what she might look like now; somehow he couldn't bring himself to envision what Azkaban might have done to her. He had recognised the contrast between his Sirius and the one he'd met a few days ago. It was unfair in a way, Harry felt like all he knew was the shadow of Sirius Black.

And that thought just made him feel guilty.

Then there was Remus Lupin, a far more confident man than the one Harry knew, with a job and a purpose in life. He had found a place, apparently, that did not discriminate against him.

_And was bloody insane!_

Harry winced when he saw himself in the mirror, being blonde wasn't exactly his first choice of a hair colour. Especially this reddish blonde Lupin had saddled him with, his skin had also been turned a few shades darker and his eyes dulled to a winter green. Freckles had been added to finish off the effect and James had provided the contacts.

In other words, he definitely didn't look like himself anymore, the glamour was supposed to make him look like a wizard from South Africa. And not just any wizard, apparently, a distant, muggle-born cousin of his mother's.

Harry wondered why Lupin had chosen South Africa? He tried to remember the history he knew of the place, from the muggle news there had been a lot of political issues the past two years, but he didn't know anything about the wizarding society there. He thought he could vaguely recall his uncle complaining about all the expats arriving in Britain, but again, that was the muggle side of things. He'd certainly never met a South African wizard, sure he'd seen a few at the Quidditch world cup, though there had been so few of them and maybe that's what Lupin had been banking on.

Lupin had spent that first night 'creating' an identity for Harry. The werewolf worked fast. Harry was now to respond to 'Henry Evans,' and had been apprenticed to James.

That was the other thing that surprised Harry, James was a Transfiguration Master, like Professor McGonagall. He trained witches and wizards in advanced Transfiguration, worked part time with Gringotts and even consulted for the Departments of Accidental Magic and Magical Law Enforcement.

All in all, he was actually impressed.

Not that he would ever admit that in front of James.

James took on two apprentices every year out of hundreds of applicants, but this year had neglected to do so because of the stress of his wife's appeals. Harry, or Henry, had only been given the chance because he was 'related' to Lily.

Lupin apparently thought a mention of sentimentality would better cover Harry's identity.

Harry almost smirked; Hermione would be _so_ jealous right now. He could imagine her applying for something like this when she finished Hogwarts. Not that he was really going to be learning anything, but still…

There was a kind of elation at the thought of pretending to be someone he wasn't, an unscarred nobody with no one staring at him or whispering behind his back. It was almost enough to take away the constant pit of worry in his stomach when he thought of his world. _Almost. _

Still, he couldn't say the Marauder's jobs weren't interesting; an Unspeakable, a Transfiguration Master and an Auror.

It certainly beat unemployed Defence teacher, deceased Order Member and escaped Convict.

He sighed, blinking with irritation at the foreign objects against his eyes and shook his head.

This world was going to take a bit of getting used to.

"Oh my Harry!" he turned at the voice of Granny Potter and couldn't help but smile, he had been sitting in the guest room for the past twenty minutes, getting used to his face and waiting for the Marauders to call for him. All the time Granny Potter had chatted on in an enthusiastic matter. He found he liked the woman, or the portrait of the woman who had once been his ancestor. She never once called into question that Harry was anything but family and after seeing him in his disguise had quite readily given her opinion.

"The hair doesn't suit you very well," she said disapprovingly, "You looked so beautiful with those raven locks of yours, just like my Johnny's.

The colour rushed to Harry's cheeks; no one had ever called him 'beautiful' before, of that he was pretty much certain, but oddly, it felt nice. Kindness was something Harry had only begun to experience in the last five years of his life; Hagrid, the Weasleys, his friends, Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Sirius, Dumbledore…

The thought of them, of everyone back in his world worried about him and thinking he had abandoned them made his stomach churn. He gave a weak smile to Granny Potter.

"Thanks," he said softly, "I like my hair darker too."

The older woman watched him with a studying expression. Harry just smiled at her.

"So what was uh…Grandpa Potter like?" he asked her curiously.

She blinked, obviously not expecting the question, her hand went again to the onyx pendant hanging low on her chest and her eyes took on a far away look."

"Johnny?" she smiled, "He was a good man, he had a light heart and an easy smile. I met him when I was fifteen, he'd been three years ahead of me at Hogwarts and quite popular with the ladies."

Harry watched with amusement as she gave a rather girlish giggle and carried on with her tale.

"Anyway, it was my parents' Christmas party, they gave one every year and that year, for the first time ever, the Potters brought their son," she was fiddling with the pendant again, "Oh, that was a fine Christmas, my sisters and I had new robes and bonnets and nine sickles each to spend on what we liked. Anyway, I was outside, looking for one of my younger cousins, who had decided it would be fun to go playing in the snow by himself, when I fell down a slope and right smack bang into John Potter."

"And what was he doing out there?" Harry asked, smiling as the older woman told the story.

"Smoking his pipe," she grinned like a mischievous little girl, "His mother didn't like it that he smoked, so he had gone out into the cold to 'satisfy his little habit.' Needless to say, he wasn't happy to see me."

"He wasn't?" Harry was surprised.

"No," Granny Potter shook her head, "He told me to get off him and then stalked away, ignoring me flat. He was a little arrogant in his youth."

"Is that some Potter trait?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as he remembered stories of his own father's big headedness.

Granny Potter chuckled.

"I certainly thought so at the time," she smiled, "He was just a bit spoiled really, an only child and doted on by his parents. That was the first time I met John Potter. Three years later we met again and he was _very_ different. He apologised as soon as he recognised me and took me out to tea. We started talking and well, I suppose you can guess the rest."

Harry nodded, then frowned.

"Um, Granny Potter?" he asked, "Something Sirius mentioned earlier, were you a red head by any chance?"

Granny Potter's grin could not have grown any wider if she was a Cheshire cat.

"Ah," she said, "The old, _Potter males go for red heads_? Well, I suppose there is some truth to it, my mother-in-law and later my daughter-in-law both had red hair, but me? No, my hair was blonde in my youth. So don't worry young Harry, you are not inherently predisposed to fall in love with a red headed woman."

Harry felt embarrassed and just nodded mutely in agreement.

"So what was your maiden name before you married then?" he asked, curious.

"Longbottom," Granny Potter smiled at Harry's surprise, "My maiden name was Persephone Longbottom."

**HPHPHP**

"I'm still not so sure this is a good idea," James said nervously to Remus when Sirius went to call Harry, "Why do we need to take him out anyway?"

Remus sighed.

"You know, I'm starting to think you have separation issues," he commented, "Every time you leave Godric's Hollow, it's the same thing."

"It is not!" James protested.

"Admit it James," Remus accused lightly, "When was the last time you went to Diagon Alley-"

"Two weeks ago!"

"Without Flooing _straight_ to Gringotts and back?" his friend finished, smiling at James' sheepish look, "You don't go out. It's been like this since Lily was imprisoned. If its not to Gringotts, the Ministry or Azkaban, you hardly leave this village. Never mind that, and you'd never leave this house!"

James grunted. He'd had this conversation plenty of times with his two friends and it always ended the same way. It wasn't like he didn't try to go to other places, it was just that he didn't feel comfortable anywhere else anymore. He came to this house only because he couldn't be with Lily. This place was the closest connection he had to her when he couldn't visit Azkaban, it was filled with her touch. She had loved decorating this old place and had turned it into a warm, inviting home.

"I visit you and Sirius," he put in, his old argument.

"How _intrepid_," Remus said sarcastically, "It's been four days and we still haven't found Harry a way home. He can't stay cooped up here indefinitely and we need to get him some supplies. Besides, I think it'll be good for the two of you."

James looked at him sceptically.

"We've hardly said two words to each other since the day we explained everything to him," he pointed out, "I don't even know if I said something wrong or if he just doesn't like me."

"Do you really care?" Remus asked curiously.

James shrugged, he wasn't entirely sure of his feelings. When Harry had arrived he hadn't wanted him there at all, but now there was a nagging worry in the back of his mind for the boy.

"I think I need a drink," he grumbled softly.

Remus heard him though and sent him a sharp look.

"No, you don't," he said firmly, "It's been over two years, you're doing fine."

James just smiled. Was that why Remus was so worried about getting James out of the house? Why he and Sirius seemed intent on him getting to know Harry? He'd figured out their little scheme a couple of days ago when he'd over heard Sirius trying to coax Harry to sit in the lounge with James for a spell. He wasn't too impressed with their attempts, but he hadn't said anything. Sirius and Remus had practically baby sat him for the first three years after Lily was imprisoned, back when his only purpose had revolved around dulling the passing of time between his visits to Azkaban.

Still, they couldn't possibly think him and Harry getting to know one another was in any way, shape or form a good idea.

He yawned loudly.

"Tired?" Remus inquired.

"Bad dreams," James muttered back resignedly.

"Lily?" his friend asked.

"Actually," James was surprised himself when he said, "Myself."

Remus frowned, casting him an enquiring glance, but James wasn't sure how to respond. It was true, his dreams the past three nights had been haunted by his own face. In the dreams he looked younger, in his early twenties at least and he would find himself just staring into vacant, hazel eyes. Then everything would flash green, he'd hear muffled yelling and the screaming of an infant. Laughter. Then silence.

He'd wake up panting, sweating and completely unable to fall asleep again.

James had not thought much of it the first night. He was used to bad dreams, though usually they involved Lily, Dementors and Harry's voice screaming for him. He was even used to dreams repeating themselves over and over again, torturing him.

But this…

"Here he is!" Sirius' voice rang out, "Henry Evans!"

Interrupted from his thoughts, James looked up to see Sirius and a very red faced Harry making their way downstairs. It was kind of scary how different a change of hair colour could make a person look. Any similarity the boy had to James was drowned out by the dissimilarity in their colourings.

"Excellent!" Remus beamed at Harry, "Now, if anyone asks where you're from or how old you are?"

Harry scowled, but complied.

"Seventeen and from Port Shepstone, South Africa," Sirius gave him an encouraging look and he sighed, "_How'z it bru?"_

"_Brew_?" James repeated, a little bewildered.

"Like bro," Sirius gave the red faced Harry a thumbs up then grinned at James, "What? I dated a South African once!"

"Why does that not surprise me?" James muttered, shaking his head, "I still think this is a bad idea."

"So noted," Remus waved him off, "Shall we go?"

**A/N: It took me five and a half chapters to write about one day. So now it's time to get the ball rolling a little bit. **

**JKR did mention African wizards at the World Cup, I remember that at least. I don't know if they were South African, but then, I don't think Harry would really care. Why South Africa? Well, I had to pick a foreign country and I don't think South Africa has been used before. Also, I find it amusing making Harry Potter talk like a Natal surfer. **

**Many thanks. **

**~Southern Hearts~**


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